Murder, By Definition
by ysone
Summary: Alex is attacked. Bobby is missing, presumed dead... and the prime suspect. If no one remembers what happened, who can prove his innocence?
1. Chapter 1

_Appearances by L&O:SVU characters. Slight spoilers for "In The Dark." Warnings for language and brief, non-graphic adult themes._

_At the risk of spoiling things, despite appearances, this is not a death story. _

_Special thanks to nohbrat for the quick beta. This story is finished, so hopefully new chapters will be posted in a timely manner, real life permitting.  
_

_Disclaimer: This is an amateur work of fiction, written purely for fun and is not intended to breach any copyrights dealing with the television production "Law & Order: Criminal Intent"._

--

**Prologue: Death**

_noun_  
1 : a permanent cessation of all vital functions : the end of life  
2 : the cause or occasion of loss of life  
3 : the state of being dead

--

It was the bitter bite of the frigid waters that brought him fully conscious. With it came a pain unlike anything he'd ever known. It cut through him with the force of a thousand tiny daggers, dragging every vestige of warmth from him in its wake. Confused, he didn't fight at first, but as awareness sharpened with the icy cold, a flash of panic-induced adrenaline shot through his limbs, and he flailed against the black molasses that sucked at him, pulling him lower into its inky blackness.

Gravity ceased to operate. There was no other explanation, because he was falling up. Wasn't he? If he could have drawn a breath, he might have laughed. Funny how bizarre life became when you were dying. Funny. At least he'd go out laughing. But he'd still be dead, and oh, God, he didn't want to die!

Fight, he commanded his arms, and they weakly obeyed. His legs, on the other hand, were deaf to his pleas, hanging limply below... above?... him. And always there was the crushing pain. The bone-deep cold. The burning of lungs that wanted nothing more than to suck in a breath of air that wasn't there. How long could a man hold his breath? He didn't want to have to find out. Not now. Not like this. Take a breath, and die. Don't take a breath, and die. Was there no third option?

Whoever said drowning was like falling asleep had clearly never drowned. Because it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. His arms, legs, the sheer agony that was his lungs... and his head... God, his head had long since exploded and was probably lying on the river floor somewhere.

And, then, oh God, there it was... the light. The one he'd only heard about, read about. The one he'd hoped to never actually witness -- at least not for another forty, fifty years. So it wasn't the inky, frigid waters of the river that were sucking at him like molasses, it was the inky dark, frigid, black "tunnel" -- the one which led to the light that any sane man would fight to avoid for as long as possible.

And God he didn't want to die. Not now, not today, and certainly not like this. This hurt, _goddammit_! Another minute, and his lungs would surely explode, joining his already shattered head beneath him... above him?

Mentally sighing -- because he couldn't very well actually sigh -- he ignored the agony that was his arms and flailed his way toward the damned light. No point prolonging the inevitable.

And then it hit him, with a force that would have shattered his poor aching head, had it not already been shattered and scattered -- _he was going to die_! And it was with both sadness and relief that he realized that it was true what they said, all knowledge did come with death.

--

**Chapter 1: Grief**

_noun_  
1: deep and poignant distress caused by bereavement  
2: a cause of such suffering  
3: an unfortunate outcome

--

There was no relief on the other side. Alex knew this because with each step toward full consciousness that her body made, the agony grew until she groaned with the enormity of it. The sound, small though it was, reverberated through her brain, bouncing around until it finally ended up roiling miserably through her viscera.

"Good Lord, did anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?" she said, but what came out of her mouth was a whispered, "... tru'k...hit..." The roughness of her voice was startling. It screeched like a door badly in need of a little lubricant.

"Alex...?"

Her features twisted. She knew the voice, but trying to place it only made her head pound harder, so she shelved the idea. Opening her eyes would likely do the same, she decided. She made no attempt to test the theory, but was content to simply lay perfectly still and hope it all would just go away.

Even that small wish was too much. Mere seconds later, the summons sounded again, this time followed by a soft touch on her arm. "Alex... you awake, baby girl?"

Baby girl? Mystery solved. There was only one person who'd ever called her that. "Dad?" Damn squeaky voice.

"That's right, baby girl. It's Dad." There was no mistaking the relief in his voice. "You with me? Can you open your eyes?"

Alex thought about trying, for all of two seconds. It would hurt, and she was hurting enough without adding anything more to it. "Nuh..." she grunted, hoping he could interpret the negative in the sound. The touch on her arm tightened briefly in what she interpreted as understanding.

"'s okay," her dad replied, his voice betraying only a slight disappointment. "It's okay, just rest."

Rest. Yes, a very good idea. Alex quit trying to decipher the myriad messages her body was broadcasting. There would be time and, hopefully, energy for that later. Right now she wanted nothing more than to find the door she'd come through and slip back to the other side where sleep waited. Her father's gentle voice guided her to it and through, and within seconds, she was sleeping.

When she awoke again, her head felt more or less normal, though she still felt like a truck had not only hit her, but had then backed up to get her again.

She weighed the risk of opening her eyes and decided to give it a shot, saying a silent prayer that the action wouldn't inflate her head once again to Hindenburg proportions. A slight splitting of eyelids without an ensuing explosion gave her hope, and she risked opening one eye fully, followed a few seconds later by the other.

Hospital, she deduced, letting her eyes take in as much as they could without moving. The location explained the various aches and pains that were vying for attention. The fuzzy subtly of their attempts told her she was very likely on some kind of pain killers.

"Pain killers..." she muttered with a humorless snort. Pain reducers would be a more accurate term. It was like taking a teaspoon of water out of a five gallon bucket. It might be less water, but it was still a hell of a lot.

"You need something for the pain, baby girl?"

Alex rolled her head carefully toward the voice. "Dad..."

Her father smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "Yeah, baby. How do you feel? The nurse was just here putting something in your IV for pain. If it's not working, I can call her back..." He made to move away, and Alex felt a sudden, overwhelming need for him to stay.

"No... please, Dad... don't go."

He turned back, his smile fading to a frown of concern. "It's okay, Alex. I'm not leaving. I was just going to call the nurse. They wanted to know when you woke up anyway."

She lifted the hand nearest him, and he caught it between both of his, holding it gently. "Not... not yet, please. I'm okay. Really."

John quirked a bushy, white eyebrow in disbelief, but didn't call her on the bluff, for which she was grateful. "Okay" might be stretching the truth to the breaking point, but it was a relative term anyhow. "Really, Dad, I'm okay for now. I just... some water would be nice."

John released her hand and turned away. A moment later, he held a bent straw to her lips. Alex sucked gratefully at it. The icy fluid that slid down her throat was sheer bliss. "Better?"

Alex risked a short nod, aborting the attempt when a wave of dizziness forced her to close her eyes. "Yeah, much," she elaborated while she waited for the vertigo to pass.

"Alex..." John began, taking her hand once more, "don't lie to me. How do you really feel? Do you need the doctor?"

She opened her eyes again, meeting her father's. Deciding on a shortened version of the truth, and hoping it would satisfy him, she replied, "Like I've been ten rounds with that damned proverbial truck. You know the one -- it hits and runs, then hits again. I think I must have met it more than once."

John lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-hearted smile. His gaze dropped, and he shifted his stance, moving slightly away from the bed, though he didn't release his hold on her hand.

"Dad..." she waited until he lifted his gaze, "What happened? Why am I here?"

John started to shift his gaze away again, but Alex tugged on his hand, stopping him. He took a deep breath that sounded as though he were trying to suck in all the air in the room. _Leave me some_, she wanted to tell him, but one look at his much-too-serious expression and the lame joke died a rightful death unspoken..

John took his time answering, which set her internal alarms to screaming. Whatever he had to tell her, it was bad enough to spook him, and that spooked her. Had she been shot? She did a quick survey of her pain, but none of it was centralized enough for a gun shot wound. She was more sore than hurt, as though she'd gone a couple dozen rounds with an Olympic boxer, or fallen head first down a garbage shoot... from the fiftieth floor.

Alex's focus turned inward, searching for something in her memory that would support either theory. Had she and Bobby been out on a case? Had some perp gotten violent? What was her last memory?

_Bobby..._

"Oh, God, Bobby..." Alex turned panicked eyes up in time to see moisture gather in her father's eyes. He never cried. _Never_. "Bobby?" She sat up, ignoring the vertigo that made her vision swim, as well as the tight pull of pain across her ribs. "Dad, please, tell me. Is he okay? What happened? Where is he?"

"Shh... Alex... settle down. You're going to pull your IV out, and then they really will sedate you." His hands pushed gently at her shoulders. "Shh... It's all right, baby, calm down."

Alex didn't want to calm down, she wanted answers, but she was clear-headed enough to know that she wouldn't get them unless she did as she was told. She forced her panic to the background and let her dad push her back into the pillows, She clung frantically to his hand, not willing to give up the comforting contact. Once she was settled, she turned fear-filled eyes to him. "Dad, please, I have to know. What happened? Where's Bobby?"

John once again took a deep breath, followed by another one, then stepped in closer to her, bending slightly to meet her gaze as he spoke. "You were attacked, baby. Tied up and-and beaten. You were hurt badly."

Alex took stock of her pain once more, but it still didn't seem so bad. She'd felt far worse on more than one occasion.

As though reading her thoughts, he added, "You're on some pretty heavy duty pain killers. It's keeping the worst of it at bay."

Still, it couldn't be too terrible; she was alive, awake and in pretty much one piece, so why was her dad so upset? So shaken that he had come to tears just moments before? "Bobby?" God, it had to be Bobby! They must have been together. They were, weren't they? She tried once more to remember, and groaned in frustration when the memory wouldn't come.

John didn't answer. Alex tightened her grip on his hand, her eyes begging for a denial. _No_, she waited for him to say, _Bobby isn't dead. He's outside, waiting to come in and see you. He's fine._

But he didn't speak. No denial was issued. He didn't say a word one way or another, and for Alex, that said plenty. His damning silence said it all. A sob tore loose from somewhere deep inside her. She released her father's hand at last and covered her face, only peripherally aware of the swelling and bruising her fingers touched there. Her father's arms wrapped carefully around her, pulling her head to his shoulder.

Long after her tears ran dry and she was left with nothing but sloppy, wet hiccups while her father rubbed her back and shushed her, she continued to wail in internal, silent screams. When even that was silenced by exhaustion, she fell asleep.

--

"Alex?"

Alex ignored the gentle summons. She was awake, but she didn't want to be. She wanted to be asleep, where there was no pain, in the body or in the heart. And if her traitorous body wouldn't allow that, then she wanted, at the very least, to be left the hell alone.

Besides, she didn't know this voice. Did she? It might have been vaguely familiar, but she wasn't concerned enough to even attempt to place it. What did it matter? What did anything matter. Bobby was dead.

Bobby was dead, she was hurt and no one would even tell her how that had come to be. Granted, the only people she'd spoken to were her father and brother, but all they'd tell her was that there'd be time enough to talk about it after she'd rested.

All she really knew was that Bobby was dead. She sobbed aloud before she could stop herself.

"Alex?" The voice could not be ignored this time, laden as it was with compassion, understanding and a gentle insistence.

Alex opened her eyes to find her vision blurred from unshed tears. She blinked a couple of times and it cleared, the blurred figure standing over her focusing into the image of a woman she knew, though not well. Olivia Benson. Alex had worked with her before, but not since she'd been with Vice, and that was too long ago, the friendship too casual for Olivia to be here now in the role of friend. Which only left...

Oh, God! Alex sobbed again and was unable to stop the tears. Olivia's face twisted in a grimace of compassion. She punched the control on the bed rail that raised the head of the bed, lowered the rail and sat on the edge of the mattress, gently pulling Alex into a careful embrace.

Alex had to know, had to hear the words, despite what they would mean. She could deal with the repercussions later, but right now, right this minute, she had to hear it. "Was.." She stopped, swallowed the bile that rose in her throat with the words. "Was I... raped?"

Olivia didn't answer straight away, and for Alex that was answer enough. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment her vision danced. Rape... it was terrible, horrible to even contemplate, but it wasn't the end of the world. She could survive it. She could deal with it. At least she was alive... not like... oh, God!

Alex pushed herself back from Olivia, a bizarre, misplaced sense of calm washing over her.

Olivia grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside table and pulled a few out the top, handing them over to Alex. Alex accepted them with a watery, "Thank you," wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. "Tell me, Olivia. I need to hear it from you." Alex looked up, meeting the taller woman's eyes. "I was raped, wasn't I?" She shook her head. "Of course, I was. You're an SVU detective. You investigate rapes, so--" She cut herself off, recognizing that she was rambling and on the verge of incoherence. "I was raped... wasn't I?"

Olivia glanced over her shoulder briefly, and Alex became aware of someone standing behind the other woman, just out of her line of vision. When Olivia looked back at Alex, her expression had softened. "We think so, yes."

Alex latched onto the words like a Chihuahua on a mailman's ankle. "You think so? _Think?_" Maybe it was a mistake. Please, God, let it be a mistake!

"We can't be sure," Olivia said. "The rape kit didn't really turn up anything, and there were no fluids, but there were signs of relatively recent intercourse."

"Intercourse?" Alex laughed before she could stop herself, the sound very close to the razor-edge of hysteria. "That might be because I had intercourse yester-" She broke off, not sure exactly how long she'd been in the hospital, but certain it was more than a matter of hours. "I was with someone recently," she finished. "And I'd prefer not to give you a name, unless you can convince me it's important to your investigation." But to Alex's surprise, Olivia only looked slightly relieved. "What? There's more, isn't there?"

Olivia glanced over her shoulder again, then stood, taking a step back from the bed. "We can talk about that later, when you're feeling more like yourself."

"No, please. Olivia, I have to know. I need to know what happened, what's going on. Everyone is walking on egg shells around me. I wasn't raped, you know that now, so it's something else. There's something you're keeping from me."

Olivia looked at her for several long, silent moments, then nodded once, as though to herself. "Just because you weren't raped, doesn't mean that the attack wasn't sexually motivated." She stepped back to the bedside and rested her hand on Alex's forearm, softly, barely touching her. Alex's eyes were drawn to the point of contact. She was surprised to see a mottling of dark bruising beneath Olivia's hand. Beaten, her dad had said. She'd not stopped to wonder what she looked like.

"You were found only partially dressed, Alex. We think... " Olivia stopped, and appeared to be searching for words. "We think that, at the very least, your attacker planned to rape you. It's possible that something stopped him. Or maybe he..." She stopped again.

"Maybe he regained enough control to stop himself short of the deed." The flat, emotionless voice came from behind Olivia. A balding, sharp featured man stepped forward, into Alex's line of vision.

Alex didn't miss the pointed look thrown the man's way by Olivia before the other woman turned back to Alex. "This is Elliott Stabler, my partner."

Partner. A flash of face filled Alex's memory. "Bobby!" She cried out, pressing her hand to her mouth as a flood of emotion threatened her already tentative control. Whispering around her hand, she asked, "He's dead, isn't he? My dad wouldn't say, but I could tell. He froze up when I asked about him, and he wouldn't deny it."

"We're not sure, but it... it looks like it. I'm sorry, Alex."

Hope latched onto her heart with a grappling hook. "But you're not sure." It wasn't a question.

"Alex, don't..." Olivia began.

"You said it yourself," Alex said. "You're not sure."

"She also said it looks like it," Stabler pointed out.

Frustration was giving birth to a full blown migraine behind Alex's eyes. She pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?! I may have been raped, I may not. I may have been sexually molested, I may not. My partner may be dead, he may not." She opened her eyes, forcing a calmer tone. "Just tell me what you do know. Please! I can't stand the confusion -- the not knowing. Whatever the truth is, it can't be as bad as what my imagination is filling in the gaps with."

Olivia sat down on the bed's edge once more. "I wish that were true, Alex."

Before she could say any more, her partner cleared his throat, drawing both women's attention. "We need to ask you a couple of questions if you're up to it."

Alex wanted to strangle him for the interruption, but the more disciplined side of her, the detective side, knew it was procedure. They needed to know what she knew, before her memories were tainted by what she'd be told. She nodded.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Stabler asked, pulling a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket.

Alex's gaze turned inward. What did she remember? Her date, a concert... and what followed, she almost smiled, but the gravity of the situation stopped her. That was Thursday night. Friday... Friday was harder. "Friday morning," she said at last. "I remember getting to the station early, before Bobby. I finished up some reports while I waited for him." She frowned. "That's really the last clear memory I have." She looked up. "What day is this?"

"It's Tuesday."

Alex looked at Olivia, horror-struck. "Tuesday?! I've lost five days?"

"Well, you were pretty much unconscious for three of them," Stabler said, smiling kindly, his features softening. "You were found Saturday morning. You didn't start waking up until Monday -- yesterday. That's when they moved you out of ICU. You've only been really aware today."

Alex glanced toward the window. The light filtering in through the open blinds was dim, with a glow of red. Dusk.

She looked back at the SVU detectives. "So... concussion?" That would explain the headache from hell.

"Partly," Olivia answered. "You did take a few pretty nasty blows to the head." She hesitated. "You also had Rohypnol in your system."

Alex let her head fall back against the pillows and closed her eyes. It just kept getting worse and worse. She deliberately detached herself from the emotional roller coaster car she was strapped into, letting the cop side of her take over. She'd deal with the emotions later, after she had all the facts. "What-" Her voice cracked. She stopped and started over again. "What aren't you telling me?" There was more. There had to be, because they thought Bobby was dead. There had to be a reason why they thought that, and even though it was the last thing she wanted to hear, she had to know what they knew. "What did you find at the... at the crime scene?" She braced herself for the answer.

"Blood," Stabler answered. "Yours and Detective Goran's."

"Bobby's hurt?" Because he wasn't dead. He couldn't be. "How bad?"

Stabler repressed a sigh, and Alex knew he was growing frustrated at her refusal to accept what they'd yet to prove to her. Good, she decided. Let him get frustrated, because he damned sure deserved to feel exactly what she was feeling. If they'd just come out with it and actually tell her something...!

"Probably not too bad, there wasn't much of his blood."

Not at all relieved, considering the hard tone the news was delivered with, Alex prompted, "What else?"

"Fingerprints. Again, only yours and Goren's."

"The perp wore gloves," Alex stated what seemed obvious to her. "He's careful, smart, but no one is ever perfect. He had to leave something behind."

"He did," Stabler continued, his expression growing as hard as his tone. "We also found some of Goren's clothes. His jacket, shoes, tie... belt."

Alex's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why would his clothes..."

"Maybe he was undressing," Stabler said.

The penny dropped. The hard tone and expression, the pitying looks, the tiptoeing around the truth. "Oh my God! You think... you think... that Bobby...! God! No! You're wrong! Oh, God, you are SO wrong it's funny." To prove her point a short, somewhat hysterical bark of laughter burst from her. "He would never, could never hurt anyone, much less me. He doesn't have it in him. He's not like that. I know him. He could never do... what you're suggesting. Never. He would die first."

And there, that deafening echo in her ears -- that? Was the other shoe hitting the floor beside that previously dropped penny. That Bobby would die first was exactly what they were suggesting. Stabler had almost said as much just scant minutes ago, though Alex had not had the presence of mind to decipher the damning comment at the time. _Maybe he regained enough control to stop himself short of the deed. _

"No!" She shook her head adamantly, determined that they would hear her and understand how ludicrous what they were thinking was. "NO! Bobby didn't... Bobby did not do this. He couldn't. He would never! How could you even suggest it, even think he could...? And based on what? This flimsy, purely circumstantial evidence? No judge in his right mind would so much as issue you a warrant based on what you've told me. Hell, they would laugh at you for even asking for one." Her voice rose with every word. How could they think such a thing? Of Bobby? Did they not know him at all? He was the last person on the planet she would ever suspect of violence against _anyone_, much less her. He just didn't have it in him.

Olivia laid a hand on Alex's arm. "That's not all, Alex. There's more..."

Alex shook her head. "No, Olivia, I don't care. It doesn't matter what you've got, what lousy circumstantial evidence you've scraped up in an effort to pin this on Bobby. You're wrong. You're mistaken." She laughed, the sound more like a mad bark of a wild dog than anything humor-laden. "You don't know Bobby--"

Olivia's grip on her arm tightened. Alex winced as she pressed against the bruises there, but she welcomed the pain. It was a cold dose of reality in the surreal hallucination that the past few minutes had become.

"Alex, listen, we haven't tried and convicted your partner," Olivia said, her voice soft enough that Alex had to focus to catch the words. "We're merely looking at the evidence we have in a realistic manner. You know we have to be open to all possibilities, no matter how distasteful they might be."

"But you're wrong, Olivia. I don't care what evidence you have, you don't know him like I do."

"Can you really say you know him?" Stabler asked.

Alex shot him a glare that she hoped he could read, though after a few seconds she decided he couldn't or he'd be curled up in a nearby corner, slowly dying in a most painful way. "I know Robert Goren as well as anyone does," she hissed at him.

Stabler swallowed hard before continuing, and Alex allowed herself the briefest moment of satisfaction, knowing that, at the very least, he was uncomfortable, even if he wasn't smart enough to just shut up and leave the room. "Well, as far as our investigation has shown us, that isn't saying all that much."

"Elliot," Olivia shot a look toward her partner, "just stop, please. You're not making this any easier."

"You're investigating him?!" Alex shot a wide-eyed look at Olivia. "Based on what? That he was at the scene? That his blood was there? That some of his clothes were there? All that tells me is that he was abducted and hurt, too, by the same attacker I was. Don't you think your time might be better spent out there looking for him? For whoever did this to the both of us? There must be some other evidence -- evidence that there was someone else there -- that... that someone else did this." Her gaze turned pleading, begging Olivia for something that she couldn't express with words.

Olivia's expression softened, saddened, and Alex knew that what she was about to say was only going to make it look worse for Bobby. She wasn't wrong.

"There's more. There was skin and blood under the fingernails of your left hand. You fought back against your attacker, you didn't go down easy. Alex, the blood and skin were both Goren's."

"That... that... there could be an explanation for that." She searched her muddled brain for a quick one to stop this line of information before it could go any further, but she couldn't come up with one. "We don't know what happened. There might well be a perfectly logical explanation."

"We're open to suggestions," Stabler said.

"I need to ask you something," Olivia continued, ignoring her partner. "About a coffee cup we found in the trash at the station. The cup came from a coffee shop near there. We were told you and Goren often got coffee for each other from this shop."

"It's convenient," Alex stated simply, thrown by the abrupt shift in subjects. "And we avoid the stuff in the break room if we have a choice."

"Do you remember getting coffee from there Friday afternoon?"

Alex frowned, searching her Swiss-cheese brain for the appropriate memory. "Not specifically, but it's likely I would have."

"Or Goren could have gotten it for you," Stabler pointed out. "That's likely, too, isn't it? I mean, you're upstairs working on reports or whatever, busy, and being a gentleman, Goren might have thought it nice to bring you a cup of the good stuff. That wouldn't be a far fetched idea, would it?"

Alex's frown deepened. "You already know that we sometimes bought each other coffee. Olivia just said as much. Clearly, you've already talked to the other guys in the squad room."

"Yes, we have," Stabler verified. "And more than one remembers Bobby bringing you coffee on Friday afternoon."

"That's not unusual," Alex repeated. "I thought we'd established that. Where are you going with this?"

"Alex, we found traces of Rohypnol in your cup, and there were only three sets of prints on it. The kid who was working the counter at the coffee shop on Friday afternoon, yours and Goren's."

Alex was shaking her head before Olivia even finished. "That doesn't prove anything... only that Bobby brought me the coffee. The drugs could have been put in there at any time -- anyone at the station could have had access to that cup." She took a quick, ragged breath. "Do you know how many people come in and out of the squad room on any given day? Especially on a Friday afternoon. Everyone's trying to get things wrapped up for the weekend -- it's a mad house around there."

Olivia patted Alex's hand and stood. She smiled down at her, but the gesture didn't reach her eyes. "You may be right, Alex. Like I said, we haven't tried and convicted anyone yet."

"If Goren is innocent," Stabler said, his tone surprisingly soft, "the investigation will prove it. I promise you that."

"We'll send in your dad," Olivia said.

Alex waited until the door closed behind them, then curled onto her side, suddenly aware of the myriad aches and pains vying for attention. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to throw her hands over her ears and hum to block out the world. It'd be useless anyhow; she couldn't so easily drown out the thoughts rampaging through her head.

The door opened with a snick, a second later closing with the same soft sound. She didn't open her eyes or turn over, but said in a quiet, small voice, "They think Bobby did this, Dad."

The edge of the mattress dipped down and a hand came to rest on her back. "I know, baby girl."

Alex opened her eyes, but still didn't turn. "Do you believe it? Do you think he could have hurt me?" She was afraid of his answer, but had to know.

For a long moment, there was only silence. If he couldn't immediately deny that he believed such an outrageous claim, then Alex dearly hoped the delay was so that he could give the question serious thought. Finally, he said, "I don't know Bobby as well as you do, Alex, but I know him well enough to like him. He's a good and decent man. Gentle and kind."

Alex rolled in the bed to face him, wincing at the pain that shot through her with the movement. "But...?" She'd heard the unspoken qualifier.

John dropped his gaze to where his hand rested on her arm. "You know Bobby hasn't really been himself lately. You said so yourself just last week. You were asking my advice on how to get him to open up to you about whatever was eating at him."

"He was depressed, Dad, not... not violent." Alex couldn't believe what she was hearing. "He has a lot to deal with. And yes, he can be withdrawn and even secretive, but there's been so much pain in his personal life. He has so much that he's ashamed of, right or wrong. You just don't know--"

"I know about his mother, sweetheart."

"What... How?" Alex was sure she hadn't said anything. It wasn't her secret to tell.

John shrugged. "Word gets around."

"People are talking about it, you mean." Alex couldn't keep the bitterness from her tone. She hated the idea of something so personal, so private being the topic around the water cooler. "Especially now." And she realized it was the truth. The fact that Bobby was the chief suspect in her attack had to be known. It must be making the gossip rounds even now. She buried her face in her hands. "God, Dad, how many of them are happy about this? How many have just been waiting for something like this to pin on him? They'll be so quick to condemn him, to believe the worst."

John, gently pulled her hands away and waited until she looked up, meeting his eyes. "I think you're underestimating your colleagues, Alex. Yeah, sure, there are always a rotten few who are sick enough to enjoy something like this. My guess is they're just jealous of Bobby's record and reputation. He's more than a little smart, in case you haven't noticed." He smiled, but Alex didn't feel much like returning it. "Those people don't matter, sweetheart, unless you let them. The vast majority of people know there are extenuating circumstances--"

"His so-called questionable mental state, you mean."

"His... situation. They know he's had a lot to deal with, both professionally and personally, and they understand that he would never hurt anyone if he was himself."

"But they don't believe he was himself." Alex pinched the bridge of her nose.

Again, John gently pulled her hand away from her face. "Don't do that, sweetheart, you're only hurting yourself."

Alex looked at him, confused.

"Your face," he said by way of explanation. He glanced around the room. "I'd show you, but I don't see a mirror. Let's just say, you could pass for Mike Tyson's twin sister right now."

Alex reached a hand up and gently ran her fingers over her features, surprised to find they didn't feel at all like her own. There was clearly a lot of swelling. The bruising must be spectacular.

She dropped her hand and laid her head back with a deep sigh.

"Get some rest, baby. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

Alex closed her eyes, too worn out to argue, but she wasn't ready to sleep just yet. Her swirling-out-of-control thoughts wouldn't let her even if she tried, she was sure. She felt her dad rise and then heard chair legs scrape the floor. She opened her eyes again as a thought came to her. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Olivia said they think Bobby is dead. Why did she say "think"? They didn't find..." She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

Her father, though, had no such reluctance. "His body? No, they didn't."

"Then why do they think he's dead?"

He pursed his lips and sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. "Alex... " He let the breath out in a huff. "Alex, you have to know that Bobby wasn't himself. You said yourself he would never hurt you if he was."

"Dad, just tell me, please," Alex begged, not sure she wanted him to comply.

"There's a 911 call."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah." He didn't immediately continue.

"Dad, please..."

"He was almost incoherent."

"You heard the tape?"

John nodded. "He apologized over and over. He begged forgiveness. Said he didn't mean to do it. Couldn't stop himself. The 911 operator had trouble getting anything intelligible from him, then Bobby got silent. He didn't hang up, but he wouldn't answer the operator... and there was a loud splash in the background..." He stopped, his expression growing even sadder. "They found a bloody handprint on the railing of the pier, and on the pier they found Bobby's cell phone, still open."

Alex stared at her dad in stunned silence. Where were the tears now? Now that she had verification, now that she had the damning evidence staring her in the face? Where was the heart-breaking agony of grief? There was nothing. She was numb.

Pulling the thin white hospital blanket up to her chin, Alex rolled away from her father and closed her eyes, praying for the blackness of sleep to take everything away.

--


	2. Chapter 2

**-:-**

**Chapter 2: Temporary**

_adjective_  
1: lasting for a limited amount of time  
2: impermanent

-:-

Fin stood as Benson and Stabler entered the SVU bullpen. Their grim expressions told him everything he needed to know, really, but he heard himself asking anyhow. "I take it that didn't go well."

"Understatement of the year," Stabler muttered, tossing his notebook onto his desk.

"How did you think she was going to react?" Fin snapped. "You go accusing her partner of raping her, beating the crap outta her. You think she'd take that well?"

"Fin," Olivia said, "we handled it with a bit more finesse than that."

"I'm sure you did, Olivia." He glanced at Stabler from the corner of his eye. "It's your partner's methods I'm questioning."

"You know what I'm questioning?" Stabler asked, taking a step toward Fin. "I'm questioning why you're so gung ho to be carrying Goren's water on this."

Fin wasn't intimidated. He calmly crossed his arms over his chest. "Because I know Bobby Goren, and I know he didn't do this."

"With this much evidence against anyone else, you'd be first on board, Fin, and you damn well know it. Just because he's your friend--"

"Exactly!" Fin announced, pleased that Stabler had made his point for him. "This much evidence against _anyone_ else, and I'd buy the whole package. This much evidence against Bobby... no, sir, it ain't right."

"I'm not following," Olivia said. "You think he's innocent _because_ of the evidence against him?"

"Hell, no. I know he's innocent because I know him. There ain't no way he did this. The evidence just supports my belief." He stopped and took a calming breath. He was going to have to spell it out for them. "Look, what's Bobby's reputation in the department?"

"You mean that he's eccentric? Quirky? To put it politely."

Fin shot Stabler a look that he hoped expressed everything he was thinking, then looked to Olivia for help.

"He's a boy wonder," she filled in. "His intuition is almost supernatural. He sees details no one else does. Picks up on clues everyone else misses."

"Right," Fin nodded. "In short, he knows his stuff. All this so called evidence? It ain't Bobby. Not the Bobby Goren I know."

"You're saying he's too smart to leave behind so many clues." Olivia, at least, seemed to be on the road to reason. "He wasn't himself, Fin..."

"Don't matter. Bobby could no more turn off his brain than you or I could stop breathing."

"He offed himself," Stabler pointed out. "He wouldn't have exactly been concerned with covering his tracks."

Fin shook his head. He was wasting his time, there was no way to make Benson and Stabler, Stabler in particular, understand anything about Bobby Goren. They didn't have a history with him. Hell, they'd likely never met anyone like him before. They couldn't possibly know how a brain like that worked. He gave it one last shot.

"Bobby wouldn't 'off' himself."

"Not even if he'd come back to reality and seen what he had done, was _about_ to do to his partner?" There was heavy skepticism in Olivia's voice.

"No, not even _if_ -- and he didn't, because he did-not-hurt-Eames!" How much plainer could he put it? He was quickly losing the tentative hold on his patience. "Bobby's sense of responsibility is as strong as his brain. Years of taking care of his mother taught him that, not to mention the backlash he suffered because of his father's complete lack of any sense of it. I know this about him, Olivia, and if you can't let your own sense of fair play keep your mind open to the possibility, then trust me. I wouldn't go out on a limb like this unless I was completely sure. And I am."

For a long moment, there was only the sound of Fin breathing heavily in the wake of his passionate defense of his friend. Elliot was the first to break it.

"Look, Fin, I respect you for going to bat for your friend, but how many years has it been since you worked with Goren? Can you really say for sure what he would or wouldn't do, given the right set of circumstances?"

"All I'm asking is that you keep your mind open, Elliot." He looked at Olivia. "Both of you. Just don't convict him yet."

"It don't think it'll matter how open or closed our minds are," Olivia said. "Looks like Alex wasn't raped, so it's likely Cragen will bounce the investigation over to Major Case. I hear they're chomping at the bit to get hold of this one."

Stabler turned toward the captain's office. "Let's go find out."

Fin watched them go, his mind sifting through possibilities and ideas until one took hold. He searched the squad room for his partner, finding the lanky man exiting the break room, a sandwich in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Dinner," Munch said, approaching. "Gonna be another long night."

"Maybe not," Fin said, grabbing his coat. "Eames wasn't raped."

"One bright spot in this whole ugly mess."

"Olivia and Elliot are in with the captain now, filling him in, but it looks like Major Case might get the case after all." Making a sudden decision, Fin grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. "Look, I got something I gotta do. If I'm wrong and the case stays here, gimme a call, okay?"

He was out the door before Munch could reply.

-:-

Fin knocked and waited until he heard the summons before opening the door and entering the office. The slim, gray-haired man behind the desk watched him in open curiosity.

"Captain Deakins? Odafin Tutuola."

James Deakins stood and rounded his desk with his hand extended. Fin shook the hand, then stepped back, not yet relaxed. He'd jumped through plenty enough hoops last night and again this morning, but all of that would be for naught if the man standing before him, openly studying him, withdrew the welcome sign.

"I just hung up with the Chief of D's less than five minutes ago. I didn't expect you quite so soon."

Fin shrugged one shoulder. "Time is a precious commodity in any investigation."

"True," Deakins said, noncommittally. "Have a seat." He waited until Fin sat to continue. "This is more than a bit unorthodox. You must have called in every favor you have to get the brass to agree to this transfer."

"Temporary transfer," Fin pointed out, "and yeah, I did. I pulled every string there was, and used up a lifetime's worth of favors."

"This case is that important to you?"

"Bobby Goren is that important to me."

Deakins leaned back against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?"

"Let's just say I owe him." Fin leaned forward in his chair. "Can I be frank with you, sir?"

"I wouldn't expect any less," Deakins said, a sly smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

Fin figured his reputation for bluntness had preceded him. "I doubt there are many, if any, around here who believe in Bobby's innocence. I'll even go so far as to say most of them have already tried and convicted him in their own minds, if not in the water cooler courts. I just wanted to be sure there was someone on the investigating team who'd give him a fair shake, balance it out."

Deakins expression took on a sharp edge, though his tone remained neutral. "Are you saying we can't conduct a fair investigation without you here to keep us honest?"

"No, sir, that's not what I'm saying. I just want to make sure someone is looking out for Bobby's interest, and like I said, I owe him."

"My detectives might have formed their opinions by now. Hell, I'd be surprised if they haven't. That's what cops do in every case, like it or not. It's that gut instinct that helps solve cases. I guarantee you, however, Detective Tutuola, that they all know better than to see what's not there, or read more into a situation than there is. Goren will be given a fair shake. All any of us want to do at this point is get to the bottom of what happened. For the department's sake, for Eames' sake, and for Goren's sake."

Fin accepted the mild rebuke with a nod.

Deakins studied him in silence for a minute. Finally, the captain said, "You used to work with Bobby."

"We did a couple of undercover operations together when we were with Narcotics."

"You knew him well?"

"_Know_ him, yes, sir, I do," Fin answered, emphasizing the present tense of the word.

For the first time, Deakins' carefully neutral expression wavered. Something unidentifiable flashed in his eyes. His tone, however, revealed nothing. "You think he's still alive?"

Fin considered his words carefully. "I think it's possible, and I'm not willing to think otherwise until I see his cold, dead body for myself."

"He went into the river," Deakins pointed out, not unkindly.

"Maybe, maybe not. Ain't nobody found his body yet."

Deakins sighed, uncrossing his arms to run a hand through his white hair. "It should have shown up by now, I'll grant you that, but it could still wash up somewhere further down river. We haven't given up on finding it."

"Assuming he really did go into the river," Fin added.

"Evidence says he did. You thinking otherwise?"

Fin shrugged. "I'm just trying to consider all the possibilities."

"Despite the bloody handprint on the pier and the 911 call?"

"All that handprint tells me is that he was on the pier, not that he jumped in. I'm telling you, Captain Deakins, I know Bobby Goren, and there ain't no way in hell he committed suicide, I don't care what might have happened to drive him to it. Bobby did not kill himself, and no one will ever make me believe otherwise."

"And the 911 tape?"

"I don't know yet, but give me time and I'll find an answer for that, too."

Deakins stared at him a minute longer. A ghost of a smile played across his lips, and Fin got the distinct impression that some invisible hurdle had just been cleared, though he wasn't sure what. Neither did he care, so long as he got what he wanted -- to be a part of this investigation.

Deakins straightened and crossed to the door, opening it and sticking his head out. His eyes searched the squad room until he saw what he was looking for. "Waine!"

Fin sat back in his chair, finally allowing himself a breath of relief. It hadn't been an easy sell. Hell, the Chief of D's had been might near impossible to convince, not to mention Captain Cragen, but it was beginning to look like it might have been worth the fight.

Deakins sat down at his desk, and a few seconds later, a tall, athletically built young man entered the office.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come in, Waine. Have a seat." Deakins leaned back in his chair, letting it rock a bit. "This is Detective Odafin Tutuola, your new temporary partner. Tutuola, meet Detective Theodore Waine."

"Ted," the man said. He extended his hand readily, though his smile was guarded.

"Make it Fin." In the space of time it took to complete the handshake, Fin had sized the man up. Too young, though not as young as he'd first thought. Likely new to the rank of detective, judging by his overeager air. Every blond hair in its place, close shaven, perfectly groomed, with an immaculate, well tailored suit and shoes that were so shiny Fin knew without looking that he'd be able to see his reflection in them.

"Temporary, huh?" Ted said, moving to the chair, but not sitting. "Something I need to know?" He looked to Deakins with the last question.

"Detective Tutuola is on loan to us from the Special Victims Unit. He's here to help with the investigation into the attack on Detective Eames."

"And Bobby Goren's disappearance," Fin added pointedly.

Deakins nodded. "Of course."

"So, it's true then, what I heard. Eames wasn't... you know..."

"Raped?" Fin supplied. "No, she wasn't."

"That's good news, but I imagine it's not a lot of comfort to her... considering the rest of it." He rubbed the palm of his right hand on his pant legs as he spoke. "Are you saying we've got the case?"

Deakins laced his fingers across his stomach. "Detective Tutuola will be taking lead, and since you haven't been assigned a partner yet, I'm putting you with him on it. He'll bring you up to speed on what SVU's turned up so far."

"Thank you, sir. I know every detective out there," Waine gestured toward the busy squad room, "wants a piece of this case. I appreciate you giving me a crack at it. I won't disappoint you."

"I don't expect you to." Deakins leaned forward, signaling the end of the meeting. "And Waine," he pinned the young detective with an intense gaze, "don't assume this case is open and shut. I want it treated with the respect _both_ of those detectives deserve." He spared a quick glance to Fin, before looking back to Waine. "Let's find out exactly what happened before we make any judgments. You got that?"

"Of course, sir."

Fin nodded his thanks to the captain before rising to follow Waine out of the office and into the Major Case bullpen.

Waine led the way to a desk on the far side of the room. Fin followed, nodding to the few Major Case detectives he recognized. He let his eyes rest briefly on the two empty desks in the middle of the room. Everyone seemed to be giving the desks a wide berth. Bobby's and Eames', Fin surmised. He resisted the urge to detour to them. There'd be time enough to check them out later.

Waine stopped before a pristine desk. Fin couldn't help notice that it was the polar opposite of every other desk in the room. Hell, it was the opposite of every cop's desk Fin had ever seen. Not so much as one paper was out of order, and there were no personal effects visible. If he had to guess, Fin figured the drawers were either empty or perfectly arranged.

"Been with Major Case long?" Fin asked, wondering if the man had just transferred in, and more than a bit peeved that Deakins would partner him with a newbie.

"A couple of months." Waine looked at him. "Look, if you're worried about my abilities, don't. I didn't get this promotion because I sat on my ass in Homicide. My arrest and conviction rate led the department the whole three years I was there."

"I didn't say anything about it."

Waine laughed. "No, but I guarantee you were thinking it. It's my baby face." He waggled his fingers in front of his face. "It's a curse. Not only does everyone think I'm younger than I am, but it makes me look inept. How old do you think I am, Fin?"

Fin didn't want to play the game, but figured it was easier to give in than waste time arguing. "Thirty-two."

Waine's eyebrows crept toward his hairline. "Not bad. Guess they didn't make you a detective for nothing. Thirty-four, actually, but most people guess much lower."

"Not with three years in Homicide," Fin pointed out. "Let's get started. There some place we can talk? Go over what we got so far?"

"Sure, conference room over there." Waine pointed off to the left. "There's an empty desk over there," he pointed over his shoulder. "I'll see about getting someone to move it over closer to mine, if you want."

"Don't bother." Fin headed toward the conference room, speaking over his shoulder as he walked. "I don't plan on spending a lot of time sitting around in the squad room."

-:-

"It's pretty damning."

Fin pursed his lips, but didn't reply. It was nothing more than the truth, and there was no denying it. Bobby's blood at the crime scene. Bobby's fingerprints at the crime scene. That damned -- and damning -- 911 tape. Not to mention the handprint on the pier.

"I know I promised to keep an open mind, but..." Waine trailed off.

"You saying you can't do that now?"

"No, no... that's not... I'm not saying I've condemned Detective Goren already, but Christ, man, admit it. It doesn't look good for him."

"Maybe not," Fin admitted, "but we're going to finish this investigation with the assumption of innocent until proven guilty, and that beyond any shadow of a doubt."

Waine leaned back in his chair. "You knew him before, didn't you?"

"We've worked together."

Waine nodded. "I understand why you would want to try and clear his name. People who know Goren, hell, all the guys around here, they like him. He's a likeable guy. I admit I haven't known him long, but I'm having a hard time believing he could just snap like that, especially on Eames. Hell, even I've seen how close they are, how well they understand each other."

"Sounds like you got your mind made up."

Waine stood and paced to the far wall, then turned back, pushing back his suit coat to plant his hands on his hips. "Look, Fin, I know why you're here. You're Goren's friend, and you don't want to see him railroaded. Fair enough. I get that, and I guarantee you that if it was one of my friends, I'd feel the same way. I'd do everything in my power to make sure he's treated fairly. So, that's cool, you know, but I've got to be the other side of the coin. I've got to make sure that you don't overlook the obvious just because that's not what you want to see."

Fin let his expression answer for him.

Waine sighed. "Okay, I get it, you're assuming Goren is innocent--"

"I'm assuming that the man I know would never hurt his partner."

"Are you sure you know him as well as you think you do?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, for instance, did you know that for the past few weeks Goren has been... well, moody, might best describe it. Did you know that he's nearly taken off Eames' head in the squad room in front of everyone on more than one occasion?"

"So what? My partner and I go at each other all the time."

"Maybe I don't know Goren all that well, but the other guys do, and from what I've been told, it's not like him. They say he's pretty easy going and mostly even tempered. The depression--"

"Okay, now, which is it? Was he moody? Or was he depressed?"

"From what I saw? Both. He was up and down like an elevator. But mostly depressed... morose."

Fin sat on the edge of the conference table. If anyone had reason to be depressed, it was Bobby, but the man Fin knew didn't give in to it. He'd perfected the art of keeping his personal and private lives separate.

He looked up, finding Waine studying him. The other man dropped his gaze when their eyes met, turning away to pace across the floor again. "How long had this been going on?"

Waine stopped. "A few weeks, I think. But I'll admit, I don't know him well enough to have really noticed."

Fin stood and headed for the door. "Let's go."

"Where?" Waine asked, hurrying to follow.

"To talk to someone who does know him well."

-:-

Fin rapped softly on the door and waited for a summons. It was almost a full minute coming. He pushed the door open and entered the room, his eyes going immediately to the tiny woman in the hospital bed. She was awake and had the head of the bed raised so that she was almost sitting up. She was alone. Her battered face carried the tell-tale signs of recent tears. It was clear he was intruding on a private moment and that gave him pause.

"Detective Eames? I'm Detective Tutuola."

"Yes, I know. We've met before."

Fin smiled. "I wasn't sure you'd remember. It's been a while."

She dabbed at her nose with a damp wad of tissues. "Hey, Ted."

"Is this a bad time?" Fin asked. "We can come back..."

She looked up. "No, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Are you, Alex?" Ted asked, moving to the bedside. "You look like you're having a rough go of it."

She tried to smile up at him, but it was a miserable attempt. "No, I guess I'm really not fine. Not yet."

Fin planted himself beside Ted. "I think I can understand some of what you must be feeling."

She lifted red-rimmed eyes to meet his. "You do, don't you? You and Bobby..." Her voice cracked ever so slightly. "You were friends."

"Yes, we are. That's why I'm here, to tell you the truth. I've been temporarily reassigned to Major Case. Ted and I are working this case now."

"Major Case... not SVU?

"Well, there was no rape, and your captain was anxious to get the case, so the brass reassigned it."

"And sent you over to work it?" Her brow wrinkled.

Fin smiled slyly, looking down at his hands. "Well, it wasn't exactly that easy. I pulled so many strings I feel like that old dude in Pinocchio."

"You did that for Bobby?"

"I owe him." He cleared his throat, looked up at her. "Detective Eames--"

"Alex," she said. "Please."

"Alex," he acknowledged with a short nod, "I know you don't remember the attack."

She closed her eyes. "No, I don't." Her voice was filled with bitterness. "I can't remember a damned thing about it."

Ted placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "That might not be such a bad thing, Alex, considering what you obviously went through--"

Her eyes snapped open and she pinned him with a withering glare. "Not a bad thing? Are you serious, Ted? My memory could be the key to clearing Bobby's name! I have to remember!"

Ted gave her a small, sad smile. "That's not likely to happen, Alex. Rohypnol messes with your mind. It's not likely those memories will ever return."

Fin cleared his throat again, drawing both sets of eyes to him. "Ted is right that you probably won't ever remember everything that happened that night, Alex, but that's why I went to the trouble to get myself on this case. I fully intend to find out what happened, both to you and to Bobby, and I will clear his name. I give you my word on that."

Alex's eyes brightened with moisture. Her voice was just a whisper. "You don't believe he did it." It wasn't a question.

"No, I don't." He shot a look to Ted, daring the younger man to dispute his words. "And I have every intention of proving that, but it's gonna be a tall order, given the evidence we're working with."

"Why?" Alex said, straightening in the bed. Fin didn't miss the wince that accompanied the movement. "Why do you think he's innocent? Olivia and her partner..."

"Stabler," Fin supplied.

"They seemed pretty convinced Bobby attacked me," she took a deep breath, "and then killed himself. Everyone I've talked to seems convinced. Is there something else? Something I don't know?"

"I got my gut, Alex," Fin replied. "I know that ain't much to go on, but I learned a long time ago not to ignore it. My gut tells me ain't no way the Bobby Goren I know attacked you."

"Alex," Ted interrupted with only the briefest glance at Fin, "we actually came here to talk to you about Goren's behavior before the attack."

"What?" Confusion wrinkled her forehead. "His..."

Fin frowned at Ted. That wasn't exactly the way he'd wanted to approach the subject. "Word is Bobby had been depressed lately. Is that true?"

"He's been a little withdrawn the past few weeks, but that's not all that unusual. He's always gone through spells of that, especially if there's something going on with his mom."

"This was nothing worse than those previous spells?" Ted asked.

Alex closed her eyes for a brief second, and when she opened them again, Fin saw an emotion he couldn't identify. "He was depressed, okay? And yes, it was a little more than usual."

"Did you ask him about it?" Fin asked. Alex made a rude noise. "I learned several years ago that you don't ask Bobby Goren questions like that. You have to wait for him to come to you, and he will eventually, if it's something he needs to share. That's just his way."

"Did he?" Ted pursued. "Did he say anything about what was bothering him?"

"No, nothing."

"How long ago did you notice the change in his behavior?"

Alex frowned at Ted. "I didn't notice a change in his behavior. I noticed he was a little down. That's it. And that started a couple of weeks ago."

"I'll call up to Carmel Ridge and see if anything's going on with his mom," Fin said. "Someone needs to tell them something anyhow."

"Oh, God, his mom!" Alex exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. "Does she know? Has anyone thought to tell her?"

"Don't worry about that, Alex. I'll take care of it." Fin was already planning just what to actually tell Mrs. Goren. God only knew how the mentally fragile woman would handle the news, but he wasn't going to worry about that until he had to, and unless and until they found her son's body, Fin didn't figure they had to tell her the whole sordid tale.

Fin pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket and opened it to a blank page. "Alex, what can you tell me about the case you and Bobby were working last week?"

Alex blinked at him, seemingly unprepared for the line of questioning. "The case...?"

"Yeah," Fin hooked a toe around a nearby chair and pulled it closer, noticing Waine's curious glance in his direction. "I just wanna make sure I'm covering all the bases. Captain Deakins told me you were investigating that string of murders near the river. I know it's been in the papers, but I've been covered up with other cases, so I haven't followed it as close as I probably should have."

"Prostitutes," Alex supplied. "Four that we know of, but we were running a search of cold cases to see if any matched the M.O. The last one we have was found nearly three weeks ago, well, four now. There was one the middle of last month, and two in the month before that. You'd have to check Bobby's notebook for the exact dates." She glanced up. "Bobby's notebook... do you have it? Was it found?"

Fin glanced at Ted, who shook his head. "It wasn't at the warehouse," the younger detective said "Nor the station or Goren's apartment. We're still looking."

Fin looked back at Alex. "Anything about this case unusual?"

Alex laughed, a short, humorless sound. "_Everything_ about this case was usual. The dead women were absolutely immaculately clean, right down to their fingertips and toenails. Their hair had been freshly washed, and all four were dressed in brand new, generic clothes."

"The perp's handiwork?"

"The scrubbing was all pre-mortem, but I can't imagine that all four of them decided to bathe, wash their hair, get a manicure, brush their teeth and change into brand new clothes right before they were murdered. That'd be an awfully big coincidence."

"Any suspects?"

"No. Bobby had some theories about the psychology behind it, but we didn't have anything solid. This guy is good. He covered his tracks like a pro." She stopped, her gaze turning inward for a few seconds.

"Something else?" Fin pressed.

"I think Bobby might have had some ideas he hadn't yet shared. That's the way he works," she explained. "He gets these wild ideas -- or what would seem like wild ideas to anyone else, and he lets them percolate. When they get to a point where he feels like it's something worthwhile, he shares. And he's not often wrong."

"So you think he might have been onto something?" Ted asked, moving closer to the bed.

"I don't know. Maybe." She lowered her head. "I guess we'll never know what he was thinking now."

-:-


	3. Chapter 3a

_**My most heartfelt thanks to those of you who've taken a moment of your time to leave a review. You'll never know how much your very kind comments mean to me.**_

_**This chapter was especially long, and I've been told that makes reading difficult, so I broke it into two installments.**_

-:-

**Chapter 3: Mission**

_noun_  
1. a specific task with which a person or a group is charged  
2. a pre-established and often self-imposed objective or purpose

-:-

Damn.

He'd done it again -- fallen asleep with the window open.

An icy wind cut bitingly across him. He shuddered and tried to burrow deeper into his blankets, but felt no warmer for it. There was little choice but to get up and close the offending window, only he knew that once he put his feet on the floor, he'd be up for the day, and it was too damned early to be up. Hell, the sun wasn't even up yet. Or his eyes were closed. Either way, it was dark.

And brutally cold.

Another shiver racked his body, and he couldn't suppress a groan at the sheer agony it educed. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" The cry, clearly articulated in his brain, was voiced as nothing more than a rasping grunt, reminiscent of the sound a dog made when you kicked it.

He searched the working part of his brain, which admittedly wasn't all that large, but try as he might, he could find no memory to explain the unrelenting agony he was currently suffering.

Dad?

_Oh, crap -- dad..._

Of course. He couldn't remember the particular specifics, but it was always dad, wasn't it? Well, not that one time in third grade when he'd managed to royally piss off a guy in sixth grade. That beating had been nothing short of spectacular, and worth every one of the ten stitches it'd taken put him back together and the four day suspension from school. Hell, it was one of the few times his dad had ever shown a bit of pride in his youngest boy. If that wasn't worth an ass whooping, then surely nothing was.

He groaned aloud as another pain, this one deep in his chest made itself known. Was it safe to be awake yet? He stilled his movements and listened hard. Someone was close by; someone with a hell of a cold, judging by the harsh, whistling breaths.

Frank?

His head hurt too bad to figure it out. In fact, his head hurt too bad to do much of anything other than breathe. Oh! It finally clicked -- the wheezing noise, that was him. God, he hoped his nose wasn't broken. He was gonna end up looking like that sixth grade idiot he'd picked the fight with. What was his name...something from the Archie comics... something befitting a bully with a broken nose... God, what was it? His headache jumped up a notch so he let the thought go. He'd figure it out later.

A broken nose wasn't so bad, though. A broken rib would be worse, because then he'd have to go to the ER again, and that meant the social worker lady would be back out for a visit. And of course, dad would charm her and flirt with her right in front of mom. Then he'd give her his same old song and dance about what a troubled, trying lad he was raising. Just couldn't keep him out of a fight no matter how hard he tried. Shit. He wanted to throw up just thinking about all that bullshit. Or maybe that was from the roiling in his guts.

God, it was dark in here. Mom usually left the hall light on at night. The bulb must'a burned out. He should go turn on the bathroom light. Yeah, and while he was up, he could close that damned window. It was so cold! He couldn't stop shivering, and that just made everything hurt. He should do that. Get up, close the window. And turn on a light somewhere, because it was darker than God's pockets.

But Jesus, he hurt so bad!

Something cold and wet touched his forehead, and he jumped.

"Shhh... lay still..."

_Mom? I'm cold, Mom.. _

Something heavy was laid on top of him, and though he was grateful for the bit of warmth it provided, it stank. Like garbage and beer... and piss.

"Just you lay still, big fella, it's gonna be all right. Shush now."

"...mom..."

"Shh... You gonna bust open that lip again, if you keep on tryin' to talk. Jus' shush now. Go on back to sleep."

"...'s he gone...? ...safe...?"

"Who? The fella what done this to you? Yeah, he gone, sugar. I expect he long gone by now."

She sounded so worried. He wanted to tell her not to be, that he was fine. Shoot, he'd had way worse than this. Like that time in third grade... Reggie! Reggie Wagner, that was the son-of-a-bitch's name. He started to smile with the victory of finally remembering that small bit of information, but a painful tug on his lower lip at the movement stopped him short. Split lip. She said something about that.

"Shush now and go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up, I expect."

God knew he couldn't feel much worse, so he decided to take her advice. Besides, Dad was gone. She's said so. It was safe now.

He settled into the lumpy mattress beneath him, soothed by the gentle lull of her shushing noises. The coolness on his forehead lifted, and he wanted to object, but making his mouth work in tandem with his brain was just too damned difficult with his head beating to save the band. After a few seconds the coolness was replaced by a large, soft hand.

"Fever's back," she said, but he could tell she wasn't talking to him, so he ignored it. "He's gon' be needin' a doctor, D. There ain't a whole lot more I can do for 'im."

"No, no doctor!"

Panic shot through him at the sound of the man's voice. She said he was gone. Why would she lie?

"No, doctor! I got first dibs, you know that. You know the rules."

_Get up,_ he mentally commanded himself. _You can fight back if you're on your feet. It won't hurt as bad._ Fear of the rage in the voice was stronger than his fear of the pain. He rolled to his side, preparing to push himself to his feet, and nearly screamed at the agony in the arm he was now laying on. The pain overwhelmed him and awareness began to slip away... which, he decided as consciousness fled, might be the best thing after all.

-:-

_Mom..._

No, that was a dream. She couldn't be here. Just a dream.

But he had heard voices, he was sure of that, and he was pretty sure that hadn't been part of his dream. Someone said something about a doctor... and... something else... something that alarmed him. But he couldn't remember, and that frightened him even more. He had no idea where he was, or what had happened to bring him here and take away his memory.

Bobby wrinkled his nose, as an odor, as strong as it was repugnant, assailed him. Rotting garbage and...urine?

For a minute, he thought maybe he'd fallen asleep on the subway. That would explain the smells and the voices, wouldn't it? God knows he wasn't in his bed. It felt more like he was sleeping on a pile of knotted-up rags. Soft in some places, not so much in others. He moved his right hand, running it across the surface beneath him and decided his first impression wasn't too far off. Cloth of some kind and gritty, covered in dirt or sand.

He risked cracking open his eyes and instantly regretted it. Not only did his headache ratchet up a couple of hundred notches, but the blurriness that met him set his stomach roiling. He instantly slammed them shut, deciding that he'd have to rely on his other senses to figure out the puzzle.

Scent was out. Definitely. The odors closest to him were overwhelming and sickening. As far as feeling went, he wished he could shut that sense down as effectively as he could his eyes. He doubted there was a single place on his body that didn't hurt, starting with his head and ending with his feet. God, his feet hurt. Like there were a thousand needles sticking in them. He risked flexing his toes, just to make sure they were still attached, and was only marginally relieved to find they were.

He tried his fingers next and gasped aloud at the pain that met his efforts. He knew without looking, his left arm -- specifically the wrist, judging by the way the fiery pain seemed to radiate from there -- was broken. His chest hurt, too, every time he took a breath, the sound of which was harsh even to his own ears. More concerning, though, was the deeper ache in his guts that told him something there wasn't right.

He stopped the inventory. That was enough bad news for the moment, and he was sure he'd figure out the rest of it once he started moving. Not that he thought he'd be moving anytime soon. Just the thought of trying made his head swim and his stomach churn.

Where the hell was he? And what, precisely, had happened to bring him here in less than working condition? A quick search of his memory turned up nothing useful. He had a vague recollection of water and cold, followed by gut-wrenching panic, but nothing more. His last clear memory was leaving the station on, what? Friday? Yeah, it was Friday evening. What was today? How long had he been here, wherever 'here' was?

Most of him was warm, but there was an icy breeze blowing across his face. And the air felt damp, not like rain, more like a musky, old cellar.

He tried opening his eyes again, waiting impatiently for the vertigo to pass and his vision to clear. The dizziness did pass, after too many long minutes, but his vision did not get better. There was a flickering light somewhere off to his left. A candle? Or maybe his vision was worse than he thought. He couldn't make it focus and trying only made him sicker.

But he was alone, as best he could tell. At least, no one was moving anywhere near him, if his ears were to be trusted.

Bobby closed his eyes and sank back into the gritty nest he was lying in, trying to will away the nausea that was working through him. He didn't want to vomit. His environment smelled bad enough as it was, and he was sure it wouldn't make his head feel any better.

Damn. He was in a fine mess. Hurt, no clue where he was, and not even enough information to know whether or not to be scared, which in itself was enough to scare him.

He was still trying to decide what he was going to do about it when he fell asleep.

-:-

Bobby knew instantly when he awoke again that he was no longer alone. He could hear someone very close by humming softly, the tuneless song being broken here and there as a random word was inserted. The voice, he decided, was female, soft and low. He was still trying to figure out if he recognized it when a hand touched his forehead.

His eyes jerked open at the unexpected touch, and he found himself looking up into a fuzzy face. A woman -- he was right about that much. He blinked and the decidedly unfamiliar features almost came into focus. Another blink and his vision cleared. She was dark-skinned, with very tiny, brightly painted features set into a broad, round face. The dichotomy was interesting, though not unattractive.

As he stared, bemused, the vivid red lips parted and the pleasant, low-pitched voice rang again in his ears. "You 'wake this time, sugar?" The words were colored with a strong southern drawl, the long vowels stretched nearly to the breaking point.

Bobby blinked again, knowing an answer was called for, but forgetting for a second how to form a response. Didn't matter. What would he say anyhow? He didn't know if he was awake or not. He thought he was, but he'd thought that before, too, when he was sure his mom was here, taking care of him.

"Well, maybe not," the black woman said with a chuckle. "That's okay, too. Just you lay there and rest. Doc says that's what you need most anyhow."

"...doctor...?"

The woman lifted an eyebrow that had been plucked almost into nonexistence. "Oh, so you are 'wake, huh?"

"Doctor..." Bobby stopped, and tried to clear his throat, surprised by how much just that one word had hurt.

"Shh... don't be trying to talk now. Here..." She turned away for a minute.

Bobby tried look after her, but quickly abandoned the effort when it was met by a dagger of pain behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tight against the onslaught.

"Try some of this, sugar."

Bobby opened his eyes again. She was holding a coffee cup with a chip in the rim to his lips.

"Think you can lift up a bit so's you can drink without chokin'?"

Bobby started to shake his head, then thought better of the movement. There was no way he was going to attempt actually sitting up.

"Oh, now, come on, baby. Doc says you got to have this stuff every few hours, and God hisself knows I been doin' my best to get it in ya. If you can't lift up, then at least just open your mouth and try not to choke this time."

Expecting an offering of water, Bobby dutifully opened his mouth, but the vile liquid she poured down his throat was definitely not water. He coughed and turned away, clamping his lips shut like a petulant child.

"Well, now, that's a fine show a gratitude. Here I am, tryin' my best to take care of your sickly, white ass, and now ya'll gone and spit this shit all over me."

She sounded so offended he turned back to look at her, only to find her grinning ear to ear, displaying a row of very white, but uneven, gapped teeth, one of which was capped in gold.

"Heh heh. I can't blame ya. This shit looks like pine tar and smells like my last John's ol' dirty drawers, but Doc says it'll help hold down that coughin' you been doin', and honey, I guarantee, if it feels half as bad as it sounds, you don't wanna be refusing this shit, shit though it might be."

Bobby took a breath, his intention to find enough air to make an argument to the contrary, but was taken by a coughing fit that made his lungs and throat feel like they were lined with straight-razors. His vision grayed as he struggled to catch his breath again. When it cleared the woman was bent over him, her left arm under his head, holding it up.

"Ya see now what I'm saying? Even God done took my side of this here spat." Her voice softened. "I bet that hurt like hell, too, didn't it?"

Bobby was too exhausted to do anything but open his mouth and let her force feed him the vile liquid. He could only hope she wasn't poisoning him. Once he'd drank enough to satisfy her, she took away the cup and wiped gently at his mouth.

Bobby swallowed hard, resisting the urge to spit again to rid his mouth of the flavor. "...bayberry bark... ginger root..."

"Wha's that?"

Bobby gestured weakly toward the cup. "In the...the drink. Bayberry bark, ginger root, and some... some other stuff I-I didn't recognize."

The woman laughed. "You'd hafta ax' Doc 'bout all that."

"Doc?" Bobby was finding it easier to talk now. "There was a... was a doctor here?"

The woman sighed and pushed her large frame back, then climbed to her feet. She towered over him, and he realized he was laying on the floor. He took a minute to look around. Yes, definitely the floor. There was a high ceiling, so he was inside, though the air felt as cold and damp as outdoors. He was laying on what looked like a pile of old, dirty clothes. Surrounding him, in an area roughly as large as his apartment's living room, were boxes, crates and old lumber stacked into makeshift walls. It looked vaguely familiar to him, but with his brain not currently firing on all cylinders, he didn't even try to place it. There was an opening in the "walls," directly across from him, that led out of the "room." His nurse appeared to be the only person with him.

Bobby's eyes were growing heavy. He wanted nothing more than to give in and sleep until everything stopped hurting, but there was too much he had to know first.

He looked at the woman, his caregiver. She had moved nearly out of his line of sight, and turning his head was out of the question. He was sure it would fall off and roll away if he even tried. He studied her as best he could, looking for some clue that would tell him who she was, why she was taking care of him in this place, and most importantly, what had happened to him.

Given the season and the temperatures, her choice of clothing was confusing. She was dressed in a denim skirt that was much too short and at least a size too small for her very large frame. Her bright pink sweater didn't cover much more, and again, was a size too small, leaving a double roll of flesh around the middle exposed. When she turned and moved back into his line of sight, he could see that her more than ample bosom was nearly spilling out of the low, rounded neckline.

Her face, though large with disproportionately small features, was pretty. She was wearing far too much make up, her eyelids a bright purple and her lips and cheeks a matching, vivid red. Long, yellow ringlets surrounded the garishly painted face, each hair perfectly in place, as though sprayed within an inch of its life.

"He ain't no doctor, exactly," she said, answering the question Bobby had nearly forgotten he'd asked. "I mean, he ain't got no degree or nothing. But he does what he can. Helps out when he's needed." She moved back to his side and kneeled down.

Bobby averted his eyes from the exposed flesh until she was settled, more out of self preservation than decorum.

"I think he was a medic in some war or somethin'. But you can trust he knows what's what. Admit it now, you feelin' better all ready, ain't cha?"

Bobby was surprised to find her words were true. Even his headache was taking less of his attention. "Y-yes, I am. Thank you, Miss...?"

The woman laughed. "Ain't you the polite one? Bambi," she said. "Bambi Rochelle."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Rochelle," he said, trying to smile.

"Miss Rochelle? Hell, ain't never been called that before." She laughed heartily. "You a polite one, ain't cha? Your mama done taught you some manners. Bambi's good enough for me, though, mister. Ain't no denying I ain't nothing more than a three dollar hooker, and you're a cop."

Bobby blinked in surprise. "You know who I am?"

Bambi shook her head. "Not me, well, just that you're a cop. D, he knows you. He said ya'll had a run in down here once. He said you was a ballsy fella, and you treated him decent. That's why he went and found Doc and sobered 'im up so's he could take care of ya."

"D... " It clicked. "Donald? A tall man, with crossed eyes?"

"That's him, 'cept his eyes ain't crossed." She shook her head. "Well, not unless he wants 'em to be."

"He fakes it?"

"He likes folks to think he's crazy. Keeps 'em away, and D, he likes to be left alone."

"Except for you. He doesn't mind you coming around. Is that because... because he's a customer?"

Bambi frowned. "Now don'cha be going thinking stuff like that about me and D. We're friends, we look out for each other, and that's it. Nothing more. I got some respect. Not much, I'll grant you, but that much."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-to imply anything disrespectful. I just want... I'm just trying to understand what's going on." Bobby lifted his right hand to bring it up to his face, but Bambi grabbed his arm, forestalling the action. He stared at his hand where she held it, surprised and confused to see how raw his fingertips were. Though beginning to scab over, he could tell they'd been scraped down to the raw flesh.

"You don't wanna be touching your face just yet, sugar," Bambi warned. "There ain't a lot of real estate there that's not gonna hurt like a bastard-birth if you do."

"What happened to me?" he whispered. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "How did I get here like this? Who did this to me?"

"I can't answer that, sugar. I'm sorry, but all I know is Dictionary Mary found you and D brought you here."

"Here... meaning to the tunnels." He remembered that Donald lived in the tunnels beneath Penn Station. He looked back at Bambi, urgency filling his tone. "Miss Rochelle, I need you to do something for me. I need you to call the police and tell them where I am--"

Bambi was shaking her head before he'd even finished the sentence. "No can do, baby, so don't even be asking me to, 'cause I can't and I won't. I'm sorry."

"Please," he pleaded, "my friends, they'll be worried..." Not to mention he had a feeling he could use a real doctor, one with an actual degree.

"No, sugar, and don't be wasting your breath asking no more," she said, her tone firm.

Bobby could see there was no point in trying to argue with her. Not only did it sound like her mind was made up, but he just didn't have it in him at the moment. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

"That stuff's done gone and made you sleepy, just like it's supposed to, so you just lay back there now and get some rest. D'll be back by the time you wake up. Maybe he'll answer some of your questions."

Bobby sighed softly and stopped fighting it. He was asleep in seconds.

-:-


	4. Chapter 3b

-:-

**Chapter 3** - con't

-:-

It was the heat that woke him next. A heat that flared from the inside, under his skin, deep as his bones. He pushed weakly at the heavy fabric piled over him in hopes of letting some cool air next to his skin.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

Bobby's eyes snapped open at the voice, searching for and finding the owner perched on a rickety chair on the other side of the "room."

"Detective Robert Goren," Donald said slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable. "Remember me?"

Bobby ran his tongue over his dry lips, absently noting the splits and swelling. "Donald." He was surprised at how weak his voice was. "Sorry, I don't think I ever caught your last name."

Donald pursed his lips and just stared at him. After a minute, Bobby broke the silence.

"Miss Rochelle was right... about your eyes, I mean. They're not really crossed."

"No?" Donald pulled a face and crossed them, giving him the look of someone standing on the far-edged border of sanity. It was an effective masquerade, Bobby decided. The man certainly didn't look like someone to be messed with.

After a few seconds, Donald uncrossed them and grinned. "Can't believe everything you see, can you cop-man?"

"I try not to."

Donald nodded. "I thought that about you that last time, when you came down here looking for Kenny Miles. I thought you was someone who lived righteous. You do live righteous, don't you, Detective Robert Goren?"

"It-it's Bobby. I try to be a good person, if that's what you mean."

"Nah, that's not it, and I prefer to call you Detective Robert Goren. It's got a nice sound to it, you know? All proper and upright. Because you, Detective Robert Goren, _are_ a righteous man."

Bobby wasn't quite certain what the proper response was, so he made none.

Donald stood and wiped his hands on his pants legs. "A righteous man on a righteous mission. What's your mission, Detective Robert Goren? Hmm?"

Bobby shook his head, wincing at the pain that flared behind his eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

"You have to have a mission, or you wouldn't be down here in my lair, now would you?"

"I didn't come down here--"

"No?" Donald closed half the distance between them and stopped. "You got here somehow, didn't you? Now be honest, Detective Robert Goren. Just answer the question -- yes or no?"

"Yes..."

"So, you have to have a mission, wouldn't you say?"

"My mission..." Bobby paused, trying to find a response that would make some headway in the convoluted conversation. Trying to follow it was just making his headache worse. "My mission, I suppose, is to find out what happened to me."

"There you have it, then." Donald slapped his hands together once, loudly, the sound echoing in the tunnel. "You're here to find out what happened to you."

Bobby swallowed, and the pain that met the effort was like a knife blade in his throat. "Can I have some water? Please?"

Donald frowned, then disappeared out of Bobby's line of sight. He returned a moment later carrying a plastic cup. Bobby hoped it was indeed water, and not more of Doc's "cure." The foul liquid might have worked its purpose, but at the moment, Bobby wanted nothing more than plain, cool water to soothe the fire inside him.

Donald squatted on his heels beside Bobby's make-shift bed. "How you gonna drink laying down?"

Good question, Bobby decided. He gathered his energy, and with a quick prayer for strength, he used his right arm to maneuver himself into enough of a raised position to sip at the cup Donald placed to his lips. It was water, and it was cold, but beyond that, Bobby wasn't sure and didn't want to consider too hard. He only hoped it was halfway potable.

"Thank you," he whispered, laying back on the dirty rags of his bed.

Donald scooted back a few feet, but continued to stare silently at Bobby. When the silence had stretched on for several long minutes, Bobby broke it.

"Can you help me with my mission, Donald?"

Donald cocked his head. "Which mission would that be? The one that brought you here? The one that got you here? Or the one that's keeping you here?"

And people thought _he_ was cryptic! "The one to find out what happened to me... how I got hurt."

"That'd be the one that brought you here." Donald shook his head. "Can't say."

Bobby blinked. "You don't know?"

Donald made a 'harrumph' noise. "Even I don't know everything, you know."

"But you do know some things... don't you, Donald?"

"I know plenty."

"Like how I got here? I mean, down here in the tunnels. You know how I got here, don't you?"

"Of course, I do."

Bobby waited, but Donald didn't seem inclined to follow up on the assertion. "Will you tell me?"

"I sent ol' Tuba to fetch you." Donald chuckled.

"Fetch me from where?"

"Where you were."

Bobby resisted the urge to sigh. He'd interrogated worse, but never when he felt this bad. "And where was that?"

Donald pulled his feet out from under him and settled his butt on the ground. He pulled his knees up and rested his forearms on them, clasping his hands. "I reckon you want the long version of it, huh?" He blew out a huff of air from his nose. "Rules around here are simple, if it's in my territory, I get first dibs. Simple enough. You was in my territory, so Dictionary Mary come to tell me. I got first dibs, and I dibbed you. Had Tuba bring you back here to me. Plain and simple."

Not exactly an answer to the question, but it was a step forward. "Where was Mary when she found me? Penn Station?"

"Penn? Naw, Mary, she's a river rat. Likes the shore, you know."

River... A flash of memory...inky black water... trying not to breath. The weight of it, crushing... "I was in the river."

"In it, on it, under it, around it... something. You was soaked through, though, and I reckon you must'a swallowed a good bit of it, too. You been trying to cough it all back up ever since I brung you here."

"But you-you know plenty more, don't you, Donald? You know something about what happened to me, maybe?"

Donald shrugged again. "Can't say I do. Can't say I don't."

Bobby tried to sigh, forgetting about the pain in his chest, and was rewarded with an intense coughing fit that left him gasping for air. Donald sat silently, watching him through it. Unlike Bobby's previous caregiver, he offered neither help nor comforting words. He simply looked on with unguarded curiosity.

"Bet that hurt," Donald said once Bobby's breathing had evened out again.

Bobby rolled his head to look at him. "Yes... that definitely hurt."

"I got some of Doc's concoction over there if you want it, but I figure you probably don't. Stuff looks like shit, smells like shit and likely tastes like shit."

Considering the nearly unbearable ache the coughing fit had left in his chest, Bobby nearly accepted the offer. It did taste like... well, shit, but it had helped. There was a good chance he would drink real shit at this point if it took away some of the pain and made his breathing easier. But it had also made him sleep, and he couldn't sleep yet. Not until he pried some kind of answers out of Donald.

"I'll pass," he told the other man.

"Suit yourself," Donald said. "I ain't the one coughing up my liver over there."

Bobby swallowed hard against another urge to cough, waited it out, then pursued his questioning. "You said you... have dibs. What did you mean?"

"Dibs, sheesh, you know... a claim to, the rights to. God, I sound just like Dictionary Mary."

The hair on Bobby's neck stood on end. "You can't own a human being, Donald."

"No? Who is it that says if you live or die? Who got you the doc, brung you food and water?" Donald moved forward, his movements swift and unexpected. Bobby flinched away before he could stop himself. The other man kneeled over Bobby, bringing their faces uncomfortably close together. The tone of his voice lowered to nearly a whisper. "Who saved your life, Detective Robert Goren? Hmm?"

Bobby forced a steadiness he didn't feel into his tone. "I can't say who saved my life, Donald, until I know what happened to me in the first place."

Donald let out a huff of breath through his mouth. The smell nearly gagged Bobby. It was through sheer effort that he didn't turn away. Finally, Donald sat back on his heels, then scooted back onto his butt a few feet away, crossing his legs in front of him. He propped his elbows on his knees and cradled his chin on his clasped hands.

"You got a point, Detective Robert Goren. A point you have," he grinned widely and exposed a row of crooked, brown teeth. "Yep. Okay, it was like this: Dictionary Mary's borderline crazy, but not really crazy, just a little, so you gotta take what she says with a heaping helping of salt and pepper." He stopped long enough to chuckle at his own words. "She says you came up out of the water like Jonah coming out of the whale. Well, not like that, she didn't, you know, 'cause Mary, she don't talk like that. You gotta make out what she says. Puzzle it out.

"She thought you was dead, but she knows the rules. She didn't waste no time coming to me."

"I thought everyone around here was afraid of you." That was certainly the impression he'd gotten during his previous encounter with the denizens of the tunnels.

Donald raised an eyebrow. "Thought you wanted my help with your mission."

"I do."

"Then shut the hell up and let me tell it." Donald pursed his lips and glared, his eyes crossing slightly, and Bobby wondered if it was a conscious effort to intimidate him. "Only people afraid of me are the ones I want to be."

Bobby nodded, but didn't interrupt again.

"Mary come to me straight away, and I sent Tuba right on back out to fetch you, but even so, you was gone when they got there. Not a hide nor hair. Zip. Nada. Tuba thought she'd made you up. You know--" he let out a breathy whistle, twirling a finger in the air on the side of his head, "--lost her marbles. What few she had, anyways."

He leaned forward. "But she insisted, so they walked up and down the rocks and finally found you. Hell, you'd managed to walk all the way down to Rocky Point, and you a dead man. Hell. Tore your feet up pretty good on the rocks and glass, but I guess you know that, don't 'cha?"

Bobby lifted his head, not an easy won accomplishment, considering it currently weighed more than a small forklift. He glanced down at his feet, but they were covered with a ratty blanket. Everything hurt so much it was hard to differentiate one pain from another, but yeah, his feet did hurt pretty damn bad, now that they had his full attention. "I was barefoot?"

"Don't know how you'd have tore up your feet if you weren't."

Barefoot and in the river, in the middle of November. There had to be some kind of reasonable explanation for that, but Bobby's muddled brains couldn't immediately think of one.

"Donald, I'm not trying to break the rules, or beat you out of something that by all rights you have a claim to, but you've got to let my friends know where I am."

"No."

The single word was said with all the pleasantness of two old friends passing the time of day, but the resolve in Donald's eyes was unwavering and told Bobby arguing would be fruitless. Nevertheless, he had to try. "My friends will be worried about me. If you don't want them down here, maybe you can help me up to the surface--"

Donald stood and walked away without a word.

Bobby sighed, fought down a cough and yelled after him, "Look, if it's property you're afraid of losing, I promise I can make it up to you. I-I'll trade you something that you need. Anything, just name it."

Donald passed through the opening that served as a door and disappeared from Bobby's line of sight. Bobby listened, but didn't hear footsteps heading away. "Donald, please. All I'm asking is that you get word to my friends, let them know I'm okay." When there was no answer, Bobby decided he'd guessed wrong, and Donald had left.

If help was to be gotten, it looked like Bobby would be the one to get it for himself. He did a quick poll of his pain and was dismayed by the results. Never mind how badly everything hurt, he felt as weak as a kitten.

There was no choice. He gathered every scrap of strength he could manage and pushed himself into a sitting position. Once there, he had to pause and wait for the room to stop spinning. It took much longer than he thought it should have, and quickly on its heels came a coughing fit that left him breathless. As soon as he could see past the bright spots in his vision, he looked for something to brace himself against to stand. The only thing close enough was the damp wall of the tunnel that made up the backside of the structure, and that was on his left side. He glanced down at his left hand, wondering how much use he could expect from it.

It was laying limply at his side. A makeshift splint had been fashioned out of a couple of short slats of wood. Thick, dingy white bandages held them in place. The splint ran from mid-forearm to the second knuckle of his fingers. The exposed fingertips were swollen and discolored. He wiggled them experimentally, stopping short when a spasm of intense pain shot up his arm. Not a good idea. That arm was definitely not going to be of use any time soon.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Bobby swung his head around, and the resulting dizziness nearly put him back on the ground. When it cleared, there was a man -- a stranger -- kneeling beside him. The man sported a thin cap of white hair. A roadmap of deep wrinkles creased his leathery, brown skin. Both of the older man's arms were wrapped around Bobby's shoulders, and Bobby knew that was all that stood between him and kissing the cracked concrete floor. As it was, he was keeled over like a puppet with broken strings.

"Damn fool," the old man muttered. He hooked his forearms under Bobby's armpits and with a strength that his small build hid well, scooted Bobby's much larger frame back until he was leaning against the damp wall. "You want to tell me just what the hell you were trying to do?" He laid a calloused hand against Bobby's forehead.

"Who..." Bobby had to stop and catch his breath before he could continue. "Who are you?"

"Folks just call me Doc. That's good enough for you, too, I reckon." He frowned. "Fever's back."

"You're the one who set my wrist... who's been taking care of me."

"That'd be why they call me Doc, Einstein." The old man chuckled, and Bobby got a whiff of alcohol. "You feel as crappy as you look?"

"If I look as bad as I feel, then maybe you'd better just go ahead bury me now."

"Smart ass." Doc turned his attention to Bobby's left arm, lifting it and examining the fingertips. He gently squeezed the ends of the first two. Bobby winced and nearly jerked the arm out of his grip. "That's a good sign. Plenty of feeling. Now if they was numb, I'd be worried. Color's better, too." He set the arm across Bobby's lap.

"Broken?"

"Yep, snapped like a wishbone at Thanksgiving dinner. Clean break, though, and I got it set pretty straight, but you still need to be careful. That splint's make-do, and it won't hold up to too much jostling around. All the same, you go easy and I don't think you'll have any long term problems with it. How's your breathing?"

"Better sitting up."

Doc leaned toward Bobby and cocked his head to the side. "Take a deep breath."

Bobby complied. A deep, rattling cough accompanied the release of it.

"Still wheezing. Make sure you keep drinking that brew I left for you. I know it's bitter, but it's doing you some good, so make sure you get it down. Hold your nose or something. Whatever you have to do, but drink it."

"Is it pneumonia?"

"Don't think so," Doc shook his head, "but that's not to say it couldn't turn into pneumonia. That's why's it's important for you to keep taking that brew. Got that?" He waited until Bobby nodded before continuing. "I want you to try to spend some time sitting up, too. Not only will it help you with your breathing, but it'll help you get your strength back. And eat something. I don't care what. Whatever Donald offers you. I'm sure it's not as good as you're used to, but you can't afford to be picky if you want to get better. I'll make sure he knows you got to eat."

Doc turned his attention to Bobby's feet, throwing aside the grimy blanket that covered them. It was then that Bobby finally took note of how he was dressed. He was wearing dark-colored sweat pants and a gray flannel shirt, buttoned over a dingy tee shirt. Not the sweetest smelling attire, but it was warm. His feet were covered in thin bandages that were, surprisingly, clean and white.

He watched while the old man unwound the bandages, exposing his feet. From where he sat, they looked fine, but the sharp, burning from the soles told him he wasn't seeing the worst of it.

"You really did a number on these puppies." Doc poked at the soles with his index finger. "That hurt?"

Bobby sucked in a sharp breath when Doc touched a particularly tender spot.

"Guess that answers that. Looks better, though. They're starting to scab over." He sat back and pulled a tin can out of a plastic bag laying beside him and scooped something thick and brown out of it onto his fingers. He slathered it across the soles of Bobby's feet. It felt refreshingly cool against the heat of his skin.

"That feels good," Bobby said. "Thank you." He sniffed the air. "Lavender?" It was the first non-offensive scent he'd smelled since initially waking up in Donald's lair.

"And emu oil. Great healing properties. A lady I know over on Houston who makes it."

Doc finished covering the wounds with the salve and wrapped the bandages tight around them once more.

"How long before I can walk on them again?"

Doc spared him a quick glance. "Got somewhere to go?"

Bobby didn't answer.

"I'll put it this way, by the time you feel like getting up and around, you're feet will be ready to hold you up. Might not be pleasant at first, but you'll survive."

"A day? Two?"

Doc snorted. "Now be honest, son, you think you could stand up without falling over? Hell, when I came in here, you were barely sitting up, and you still look a little green around the gills from the effort, like you could upchuck any minute."

Bobby couldn't deny the truth in the observation, so he didn't even try. He looked up at the opening in the far wall. "Where's Donald?"

"Who knows where Donald goes?"

Bobby lowered his tone to barely more than a whisper. "Doc, I need your help. I need to get a message to a friend, let her know I'm okay. Her name is Alex Eames. I can give you her number."

Doc didn't say anything.

"Or if you could get word to the police. I just need to let someone know where I am. Could you do that for me? Please?"

Doc looked at him, frowning. "That's not a good idea, son."

"You know what I really need is a hospital. All I'm asking is that you let someone know where I am--"

"Look, I'll do what I can for you, as a favor to Donald, and because, well, that's what I do. I take care of those I can. It's going to have to be enough for you right now."

"Please, don't think I'm not grateful for what you're doing, Doc, because I am. I just need to get word to my friends. I have no idea what Donald has planned, and to be honest, I don't really think I want to have to find out."

Donald burst around the corner. "You think I'm keeping you prisoner here?" he yelled.

Doc made himself busy checking the knots on the bandages.

Bobby sank back against the wall and cradled his left hand with his right. "Aren't you, Donald?" His attempt at bravado was spoiled by a cough.

Donald stopped in the middle of the room. "You want to leave, Detective Robert Goren, you just get up and go. Go ahead, get out of here. I ain't holding you here against your will. I'm helping you hide out, that's what I'm doing for you. Keeping you safe."

"Hide from... from what?"

Donald gestured widely. "Them! Wolves in sheep's clothing!" He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it spiking up in all directions. "But the wolves here are the enemies and the sheep are your friends."

"Goddammit, Donald, just tell him," Doc muttered quietly. "All these bloody, damn riddles. What are you trying to prove? Who's smarter? I doubt you'd win that contest even if he hadn't gotten his head nearly hammered in."

"Tell me what?" Bobby asked, looking from one man to the other. Neither seemed inclined to meet his gaze.

"Oh, hell!" Donald stormed over to a cardboard box and rummaged through it's contents, eventually coming up with a neatly folded newspaper.

He closed the distance between them, and tossed it on Bobby's lap. Bobby's eyes dropped and he gasped. Looking back at him were side by side photos of him and Alex. Across the top of the pictures was the headline, _"Decorated Detectives in Failed Murder/Suicide?"_

-:-


	5. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for the lovely reviews. I have to admit, I was nervous about posting this story, but you guys have made me feel very welcome here. _

**-:-**

**Chapter 4: Difficult**

_adjective_  
1: hard to do, make, or carry out  
2: hard to deal with, manage, or overcome  
3: hard to understand

-:-

Alex heard the door open behind her, but she didn't turn. She was standing at the window, watching the rain that was blowing across the rooftops in sheets. The gray gloominess matched her mood.

"Alex ..."

The unexpected voice startled Alex. She turned, only remembering her bruised right hip when it protested the abruptness of the move. "Fin." She tried to smile in greeting, but the effort seemed too monumental for her to even attempt. "Waine not with you?"

"I'm not here in an official capacity. You're Bobby's friend; I figure he would want me to check on you, see how you're doing."

A smile now came easily in response to his statement. Alex liked Fin's directness and candor, but mostly she liked that he didn't dance around mentioning Bobby's name to her like everyone else seemed to.

"Street clothes?" Fin questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're about to blow this joint?"

Alex moved to the bed and eased herself carefully down to sit on the edge. "About time, don't you think? Nothing really wrong with me that a soak in a tub of hot water with some bath salts won't cure. I'm waiting on the orderly to bring a wheelchair. My dad's gone to bring his car around to the door."

Fin crossed the room, stopping beside her. Alex looked up, and she could see he was struggling with something he wanted to say. "What is it, Fin? Did you find something?"

"When I said I wasn't here in an official capacity, I wasn't exactly telling the truth. I didn't lie about wanting to see how you're doing, though. I know that if Bobby was able to, he'd be here himself."

"But...?"

Fin sighed. "You've been told about the 911 call, haven't you?"

Alex nearly flinched at the question. It was sheer force of will that kept her voice steady. "Yes."

"I wouldn't ask this unless I thought it was important, Alex, believe me. I want you to listen to the tape."

Alex sucked in a breath. It was the last thing she'd expected him to ask her, and the last thing she wanted to do.

"Hear me out before you give an answer--"

"Fin... no, I... I can't. Don't ask me to."

"I know what I'm asking, Alex. I listened to it myself, a whole bunch of times, and I can tell you, it wasn't easy."

"Then you know why I can't do it."

"Look..." Fin sat down on the bed beside her. "You got to trust me on this, Alex. If it wasn't important, I wouldn't ask you to do it." He looked her in the eye. "Do you believe Bobby attacked you? I know you said before you didn't, but I need you to look deep down inside of yourself and tell me what you honestly feel. Do you think there's even the slightest chance that Bobby did this to you?"

Alex hesitated, not going with her initial, instinctive response, but instead opting for the truth. "I won't lie and tell you that in the deepest, darkest part of the night I don't wonder if maybe he could have... maybe he wasn't himself and maybe he might not have known what he was doing." She drew in a shaky breath. "But then my head and my heart tell me there's no way in hell he would ever hurt anyone, no matter how over the edge he might fall. So, no, I don't believe he attacked me."

Fin nodded, clearly satisfied with her answer. "Then trust me when I tell you that this 911 tape holds the key to proving that."

Realization dawned. "You don't think it's Bobby on the tape."

Fin frowned. "To be honest, I can't say it is or it isn't. I just don't know. I've listened to it a dozen times, and I just can't tell."

"Surely, they've had a forensics compare--"

Fin was nodding before she finished speaking. "The results were inconclusive. When you hear it, you'll understand why. The speech patterns are Bobby's, right down to his stutter and inflection, but the voice is so distorted it's impossible to say for sure. That's why I need you to listen to the tape, Alex. No one knows Bobby better than you do. You've worked beside him every day for the past few years. You've heard him talk in almost every circumstance there is. If anyone would know if it's him, you would."

Alex stared at her hands in her lap. The rope burns around her wrists had nearly healed. They'd been superficial, really. Not all that deep. She'd probably been too drugged to put up much of a struggle. She rubbed a finger lightly over the pink line that remained while she considered Fin's request. It would very likely be the hardest thing she'd ever done, listening to what might turn out to be Bobby's final words. But if there was the slightest chance it wasn't him on the tape, how could she refuse?

"When do you want me down there?" she asked, looking up.

Fin nodded, allowing the smallest of smiles to lift the corners of his mouth. "I'd like to say take your time. I know you're still healing, but--"

"But it can't wait, I know." Her gaze grew intense. "Fin, if it's not Bobby on the tape, do you think that could mean that he didn't... he's not..."

"That he's not dead?"

Alex nodded.

Fin looked away, but not before Alex saw the conflict in his eyes. "Just tell me what you think," she urged. "I know everyone else thinks he is. They all think he attacked me, too, so why should I give a rat's ass what they say? Tell me what _you_ think, Fin."

He turned back to face her, pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. Finally, he spoke. "In my book, until they find a body that proves otherwise, he ain't dead, but before you put any store in what I think and get your hopes up, I got nothing to base that on except gut instinct."

"And the lack of a body."

"And a dead certainty that Bobby wouldn't have jumped."

Alex nodded. "But if he's not dead, where is he? Why doesn't he come forward?"

"We can't answer that until we find out what happened."

Alex looked out the window at the driving rain. "He could be out there somewhere, cold, hurt, no place to go..." Tears welled. She blinked them back, hating the thought of Fin seeing her weakness. She'd worked hard to carry her own weight, knowing that because of her gender and her small stature, she had twice as much to prove as the men in her department. She had to stay strong, or she'd never be allowed to join the investigation, and she damn well intended to do just that... just as soon as she could stand on her own two feet for more than ten minutes at a time.

She turned back to Fin, resolve flooding through her. "I'll come in first thing in the morning. I'd say this afternoon, but I know my dad's not going to let that happen."

Fin smiled. "In the morning is fine. How about I pick you up so you don't have to ask your dad to drive you in?"

Alex jumped on the offer. She had no idea how she was going to present the plan to her father, but she was certain that it wouldn't be an easy sell.

Fin patted her knee and stood, just as the door opened and an orderly entered pushing an empty wheelchair. "Go home and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

-:-

Half the people who greeted Alex when she entered the Major Case squad room kept their eyes averted, as though embarrassed or uncomfortable. The other half seemed only too eager to search her face, taking in every detail of the bruising and cuts there. She was grateful that the swelling was gone for the most part, and all that was really left of the bruises were some purple and black mottling, fading with every day that passed.

She bravely made her way through the squad room with Fin at her side. They headed straight to Captain Deakins office, where Deakins and Ted Waine were waiting for them. Alex took the chair closest to the captain's desk without being invited, her eyes on the tape recorder laying prominently on the desk.

"You sure you're up to this, Alex?" Ted asked, his soft voice laced with concern. "Everyone will understand if you're not ready, if you need more time."

"No." Alex tucked her hair behind her ear. "Let's do this while I've got my courage plucked up." She looked at Deakins. "I'm okay, sir, honest."

The captain nodded and sat in the chair behind his desk. He spared a quick glance at Alex and pushed the button which would start the tape playing.

A calm, flat-toned female voice filled the room. _"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" _

_"There's a... there's a woman... Canal and West Houston, near Rock Point Pier. She-she... she needs help. She's been hurt. Please, hurry... Oh, God..."_

Alex understood now why no one could say for sure that it was Bobby on the tape. The voice was soft, as though far away from the speaker of the phone, and it was distorted with palpable grief. Sobs and anguished moans filled the long hesitations between words.

_"What is your name, sir?" _

_"You have to hurry... she's... she's hurt and she needs help." _

_"Emergency services are en route. Sir, what is your name?"_

A heart-rending sob filled the air in reply.

_"Sir? Are you there?" _

_"I didn't mean it... God, believe me, I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself. Please, God, I didn't mean it. Alex... I'm so sorry." _

_"Sir, please, calm down. I need you to tell me your name." _

_"I... wasn't myself. I-I-I would never... would never hurt Alex. I would never... I'm so sorry."_

At this point it was nearly impossible to understand him he was crying so hard. Alex leaned forward, but she couldn't catch the next words at all. They were little more than incoherent mumbles. The sounds stopped after a minute, and Alex could hear ragged breathes, then a loud clatter.

_"Sir? Sir? Are you there?" _

There was no answer.

Deakins punched the button to stop the tape. "Other than some background noises, that's all there is."

Alex sucked in a breath, dismayed to hear that it sounded as frayed as she felt. She closed her eyes and took several more, until she felt steady and calm. When she opened her eyes again, all three men were looking at her in concern.

"I'm all right." She grinned at them to prove her point. "Really, I'm fine... because that wasn't Bobby."

"Are you sure?" Fin asked.

"Positive?" She shook her head. "No, not one hundred percent. But reasonably? Yeah, I'm reasonably certain that's not Bobby."

"What?" Waine was vocally surprised by her near-adamant declaration. "It sounded like him to me. Everyone who's listened to it agrees that it's him--"

"Not everyone," Fin said. "There's no consensus."

"Fine," Waine corrected throwing his hands wide in an exasperated gesture. "Most everyone, then. So why do you think it _might_ not be Goren?"

Alex considered her reply, but there was really no way to say it other than the straight out. "I don't know. I just do."

"But you said you're not certain," Deakins said, sounding disappointed.

Alex didn't hesitate. "Completely certain, no, but I'm certain enough to stake my career on it, sir."

"Are you sure you're not hearing what you want to hear?" Waine asked. At the glare Alex turned on him, he added, "I'm only asking you to consider the possibility. No one blames you for not wanting it to be your partner who attacked you, a man you've grown to admire and respect, but you have to look at the evidence objectively."

Alex jumped to her feet and spun to face the young detective. "Do you honestly think I can be objective about this, Ted? I was attacked and possibly nearly raped, and everyone is trying to pin it on Bobby. I don't need my memories to know it wasn't him. I'm telling you that's not Bobby on that tape. The voice is off-"

"He was distraught," Ted said. "You couldn't really hear his actual voice through the distortion from his crying and carrying on. The stuttering and the long pauses between words, that's the way Goren talks."

A smile suddenly lit Alex's face. She spun back to Deakins. "That's why I know it's not Bobby! He doesn't stammer when he's upset. He only stammers when his thoughts get ahead of him, when he's working a crime scene or interrogating a suspect. When he's thinking too fast and his mouth gets left behind."

"You know," Fin said, "she may be on to something, Captain. Bobby doesn't really stutter like that when he's excited."

"He was distraught enough to kill himself seconds later," Waine said. "Who can know how he would talk?"

"Plus, he called me 'Alex' on the tape," she said. "He doesn't call me Alex. He calls me Eames. By itself, I probably wouldn't question it too closely, but coupled with the out-of-place stammering..."

"Bobby has unique speech patterns. It would make him very easy to imitate," Fin pointed out.

"You think someone faked the call?" Deakins asked. "For what purpose?"

Fin shrugged. "To frame Bobby maybe."

Ted laughed, a humorless bark of noise. "That's a little far-fetched, don't you think? I mean, there's absolutely no evidence that anyone else was at the crime scene. Only Detectives Goren's and Eames' fingerprints were there, only their blood. No one else's fingerprints were on Goren's cell phone--"

"Wait," Alex interrupted. "Only Bobby's prints were on his phone?"

Deakins rummaged through a stack of papers in a manila folder on his desk. When he found the one he wanted, he pulled it out and swiftly read over it. "His phone was found on the pier, near the bloody handprint. It was still open and still connected to the 911 operator." He looked up at Alex. "Only his prints were on the phone. Why?"

"My cell phone battery died Friday. My charger must have come loose or something, because it didn't have a full charge. I borrowed Bobby's that morning."

"Your fingerprints should have been on the phone," Fin said.

"Which means someone wiped down the phone, and then planted Bobby's prints back on it."

"Whoa, wait a minute." Ted held up his hands. "That's a mighty big conclusion to jump to. Maybe Goren cleaned the phone at some point after you used it."

"Maybe," Deakins agreed. "Maybe not. I'd say it's reasonable doubt, at the very least."

"Bingo!" Fin said, a satisfied smile twisting his lips. "Between the phony stutter and the wiped down cell phone, I'd say we have ourselves a case."

Alex sat back down and folded her hands in her lap. "Now all we have to do is figure out who had a motive to attack me and frame Bobby for it."

"Wait a minute, Eames," Deakins protested. "Unless there's something you've neglected to tell me, you haven't been cleared to return to duty."

Alex ignored him and turned to face Fin. "We need to look at old cases..."

"Even if you had been cleared," Deakins continued, "you know you can't work this case."

"...and check on recent parolees," Fin finished her sentence.

"You're too close to it. You're the victim for God's sake!" Deakins slapped the desk to punctuate his statement.

"Revenge is a strong motive." Alex felt excitement beginning to grow for the first time since she'd awoken in the hospital three days previous. "Bobby's got his share of enemies, heaven knows."

"We'll have to look at 'em all," Fin said with a nod.

Deakins huffed out a noisy breath and stood, glaring down at the detectives sitting across from him. "You're going to get me fired."

That quieted Alex and Fin. They looked up at him.

The captain planted his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling. "Okay, look..." He lowered his gaze, stilling Alex with the seriousness in his expression. "I don't think I could keep you out of here if I handcuffed you in your house, so I'm not even going to try. But I meant it when I said I could get fired for this, so listen to me carefully. If you're going to do this, you're going to follow my rules. Until you bring me a signed release from both your medical doctor and the department shrink saying you're fit for even light duty, then your contribution to this case will be limited to research and paperwork only. No field work! You got that?"

Alex frowned.

Deakins lifted his chin and raised a finger. "I'm serious Alex. That's a direct order, and if I catch you disobeying it, I'll not only ban you from the station for the duration of this case, but I'll call Johnny and tell him what his daughter is up to."

Sighing, Alex reluctantly agreed to the terms. "I got it." She frowned and added a bitter, "...sir," to the end.

"Good" Deakins nodded, a victory smile making a brief appearance. He sat back down. "Because you're really the only one who will know what to look for. I want the three of you going through your old case files. See who's fresh out of the pen, and who's got the means to pull this off."

"And by means, you mean brains." Fin pulled a face. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make us think it was Bobby."

"Not a lot of our collars are that smart," Alex said, "or know Bobby well enough to have made the frame up so convincing."

"That ought to narrow your search down," Deakins said. "Get to it."

-:-


	6. Chapter 5

-:-

**Chapter 5: Comprehend**

_transitive verb_  
1. to grasp the nature  
2. to contain or hold within a total scope, significance, or amount  
3. to understand

-:-

"Hungry?"

Before Bobby could answer, Donald tossed a plastic wrapped sandwich into his lap. Food was the last thing Bobby wanted, and he was certain his stomach would never accept it. He started to set it aside.

"It ain't prime rib, but it's fresh. Mostly. One of the missions gives 'em out every now and again up top."

Lacking the energy or inclination to explain the real reason for his lack of appetite, Bobby picked it up and used his teeth and good hand to rip open the plastic. A whiff of sour mayonnaise hit his nose immediately and his stomach rebelled. He dropped the sandwich and rolled to his side, dry heaving. His stomach was too empty for anything else. When he finished, he straightened slowly. Donald, he noticed absently, was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the living area, happily munching on the abandoned sandwich.

"Your loss."

Bobby grimaced, but said nothing.

"You ain't said five words since you read that newspaper."

Still maintaining his silence, Bobby closed his eyes.

"Suit yourself. At least you ain't asking me to go get your friends no more. They think you're dead, you know."

"I know." The words were soft, lifeless.

"Suicide. After you beat the shit out of Detective Alex Eames."

Bobby heard Donald wad up the crinkly plastic wrap from the sandwich. The only other sound was the constant drip of water from somewhere deeper in the tunnel and an occasional scrapping noise that Bobby didn't want to question too closely. Rats, most likely.

"Did you?"

Bobby opened his eyes. "What?"

"Did you beat the crap out of Detective Alex Eames and then kill yourself?"

"I'm not dead."

"You sure about that?"

"Death wouldn't hurt this much."

"Good point. Unless you was in hell."

"Hell would smell better."

Donald chuckled. "You're avoiding the question."

Bobby sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "I don't know," he said finally.

"Detective Alex Eames don't know, either."

"I know. I read the paper, too, remember?"

Donald continued as if Bobby hadn't spoken. "She don't remember anything that happened, they said. They found drugs in her. You want me to see if Bambi Rochelle can find you something you might like better to eat?"

Bobby blinked a few times while his brain struggled to catch up to with the sudden shift of subjects. "No... thank you. It's not necessary."

"Hell, it ain't. Doc said for you to eat something."

"Maybe later," Bobby said, certain time would make no difference.

"The paper said you had a mental breakdown, you know."

Bobby knew damn well what the paper said. He'd read the article a dozen times, and Donald had recited it to him at least that many more. "I know," was the only answer he gave.

"Said your mama's crazy, and that you got it from her."

"Damn it, Donald! I know what the paper said!" He pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his good hand, not even caring that it hurt. "I'm sorry. I didn't... didn't mean to yell at you." He continued in a more reasonable tone of voice. "I know what the paper said, but I told you, I don't know what happened. I don't remember."

"Probably because you hit your head."

"Probably." Unless it was because he really did have a breakdown. An icy chill dancing up his spine elicited another shudder. If he had, then that would mean he really had hurt Alex, and that was simply unacceptable. He wouldn't hurt her. Not ever, no matter what.

"I'm not crazy..." he whispered.

Donald laughed. "Shoot, I know that. I've seen crazy. Hell, I've been crazy, and crazy you ain't."

"I was in the river, though. They said I-I jumped in the river after... because I was remorseful, distraught over what I'd done. You said Mary saw me come out of the river, and I... I think I remember the water." His attention focused inward. "I can remember holding my breath. It was dark... I thought I was dead."

"But did you want to be dead? That's the more important question."

Bobby scrubbed a hand over his face, letting his fingers linger over his right cheek and the three deep scratches there. Had Alex done that, trying to protect herself from him? He dropped his hand as if it had been burned. The thought sickened him. Alex was strong... and fiery. She could hold her own in a fight, and he'd seen her take down men twice her size, but Bobby was a big man. In a crazy rage...? His stomach revolted again. He rolled to the edge of his pallet of rags and heaved.

"You know, if you ever actually manage to puke up something, you're going to have to clean it up yourself. That's where I draw the line on nursemaiding you."

Bobby leaned back against the wall.

"Of course, you'd have to eat something in order to have something to puke up. I'll tell Bambi Rochelle to see about getting you something. What do you want?"

"I'm fine." Bobby rubbed his throat. Between the dry heaving and the coughing, it felt like he'd been swallowing glass shards. "Really."

"Hell you are." But Donald didn't press it. "She's okay, you know."

Bobby looked at him. "Alex?" The paper hadn't said much about Alex's condition, other than she was recovering.

"Detective Alex Eames wasn't hurt all that bad. Not like you, leastwise. She's outta the hospital already."

"How do you know?"

"I know lots of stuff."

Bobby sat up straighter. "You've seen her?"

"Nah, but I know."

Bobby slumped again, unable to hide his disappointment.

"You better be glad I ain't seen her," Donald pointed out. "That'd mean she was snooping around down here looking for something. Do you really want her looking for you?"

"She thinks I'm dead." Even if she didn't, she'd only be looking for him in order to arrest him. Was he was fooling himself? Maybe he should just turn himself in and take his chances. If he was innocent, then Alex would get to the bottom of it. If he was guilty... well, then he'd deserve whatever happened to him. Likely, he'd be locked up somewhere for the criminally insane. Not somewhere nice like where his mother was.

_Mom..._

Who would take care of her if he was locked up somewhere? Who would visit her? Call her? She'd never understand what happened. She'd only know that he'd abandoned her. And she'd be all alone. There was no one else, except Frank, and he couldn't be counted on.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think you did it."

Startled from the depressing thoughts, Bobby looked up. It took him a full minute to grasp what Donald had said. "Why not? Looks like there's plenty of evidence against me. Even the cops think I'm guilty." Did Alex? Did she believe he'd attacked her? Bobby's breath hitched, trapped in place by the sudden weight on his chest at the thought.

"Because then why'd you get out of the river? Why would you have done that? Makes no sense."

"Wha-what?"

Donald shrugged one shoulder. "Look, if you knocked around Detective Alexandra Eames, and if you was so broke up about it that you jumped into the river, why'd you get out? You'd have wanted to drown, right?" With his index finger, he punched the air animatedly with his next four words. "So, why didn't you?"

Why hadn't he? Bobby considered the question. All he really remembered was the water, and the way he'd felt. Panic, fear. He remembered fighting to find the surface, but his sense of direction had been turned around. But if he'd been trying to kill himself, why would he have been afraid? Rather than fear and panic, there should have been calm... relief, perhaps, that it was almost over. Did he change his mind? No, if he really had hurt Alex -- God, it was hard to even think the words -- but if he Ihad, then no, he wouldn't have changed his mind. That was the only scenario in which he could see himself even contemplating it. He'd have been distraught enough to kill himself rather than face the truth of what he'd done. If he'd hurt her.

"Besides," Donald said, interrupting his thoughts, "I think Dictionary Mary might have seen something."

"She saw something? Other than me in the river?" For the second time in as many minutes, hope flared in Bobby's chest. "What did she see? Did she say what it was?"

"She says a lot of things. The trick is to decipher it, and that ain't no easy trick. Mary's a strange old bird."

"What did she say?"

"Some weird word... sounded like Nixon or... elixir, maybe. Not that, but something like it."

Nixon? Bobby sifted through the recesses of his brain, looking for some hidden meaning to such a strange reference. "Nixie? Or nixor?"

Donald shrugged casually, as if Bobby's sanity wasn't riding on the answer. "Nixor, maybe. Yeah, could be."

"It's Latin. It means... well, among other things, to struggle." Did Mary see a struggle? She might simply mean his struggle to get out of the river. Or maybe she saw Alex struggling against him. Or maybe, please God, she saw something else. Would that be too much to hope for? He was afraid he was just setting himself up for a fall.

"Donald," Bobby looked at his new roommate, "I think I need to talk to your friend Mary."

-:-

Dictionary Mary was nothing like Bobby expected, not that he really knew what he had expected, only that the woman standing before him was not it.

Standing somewhere shy of five feet tall, Mary probably didn't weigh ninety pounds, even with the multiple layers of wool she was wearing. She looked like the kind of woman who should be knitting in front of a fire, a tea cup at her side and a cat at her feet. Snow-white hair peeked out from under the edges of the brown woolen cap she wore pulled low over her forehead. Tell-tale lines of a long, hard life creased her pale face, but twinkling eyes and a shy smile softened the look. She stood hunched, her spine bent and her neck pushed down into her shoulders, giving her the appearance of a bird perched on a power line, puffed up against the cold. Her gloved hands were clasped in front of her. At her feet was a large, well-worn shopping bag. As Bobby watched, the bag moved, and a furry head peeked over the edge. Mary bent down and patted the cat's head. With a half purr, half meow, the cat pushed its nose into her hand for more of the attention. Mary accommodated the creature, her eyes never leaving Bobby.

Bobby returned her smile, hoping his scratched and bruised face didn't make the gesture look menacing. The last thing he wanted was to frighten the tiny woman. "I'm happy to meet you, Mary" he said. "My name is Robert Goren. Donald tells me it's you I have to thank for... well, for saving my life."

Mary's smile grew. "Redeem. It's a transitive verb. From the Anglo-French _redeemer_. The third meaning, to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental." Her voice was soft, sweet.

"You-you talk in definitions, that's why they call you Dictionary Mary." Something jostled in the recesses of his scrambled brain, but he couldn't immediately pin it down. He let it go -- fodder for another, more appropriate moment.

"That would be from the Middle English, dear. _Nekename_, an additional name, alteration. It's a noun." She spoke slowly, with precise pronunciation. "It's a descriptive name given in addition to the one belonging to a person, place, or thing."

"Nickname," Bobby translated. "You were a, a teacher? Or librarian?"

"Teacher," Donald said. "Once upon a million years ago."

Bobby gestured to the cat. "What's... your cat's name."

_"I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, and therefore look you call me Ganymede."_

"Shakespeare," Bobby recognized. "Not just definitions, then?" He directed the question to Donald.

Donald shrugged. "Dictionary, Bible, books, whatever suits her purpose. Don't be thinking she's crazy, though. Most days, she's sharp as a tone deaf tenor. She just don't speak normal."

"Mary," Bobby made his tone as non-threatening as he could manage. Not an easy feat, considering how raw and ragged he sounded to his own ears. "Do you remember the night you found me in the river? Do you remember what you saw?"

"Oh. Oh, yes, the process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained. A verb."

"Can you tell me what you saw?"

Mary's smile faltered, but she didn't answer.

"Please, it's very important that I know what happened. You see, I-I... I can't remember. I have no memory of anything that happened that night."

"To fail to become mindful at the proper time."

"Yes, I, I forgot."

"Mary," Donald said, "tell him what you told me."

Mary looked over her shoulder at him, then back at Bobby. _"And the LORD spake unto the fish, and it vomited out Jonah upon the dry land."_

"Jonah and... and the whale, from the Bible. Jonah is supposed to be me, isn't it? Is that all you saw? The river... vomiting Jonah out onto the dry land?" Donald had already told him as much. Bobby tried to hide his disappointment.

Mary ducked her head, her chin resting against the thick wool coat buttoned tight to her neck. Directly, she lifted her eyes without moving her head. _"For they cried to God in the battle, and he was intreated of them; because they put their trust in him."_

Bobby's forehead creased in thought. "Battle... You saw a fight. Near the water. Was it me?"

Mary stepped forward and bent low so that her face was on a level with Bobby's. She laid a gloved hand against his cheek, and spoke, her voice firm and serious. _"So they took up Jonah, and cast him forth into the sea: and the sea ceased from her raging." _

Bobby's heart beat hard in his chest. "Someone threw me in. You saw someone throw me in the water. I didn't jump?" _Please, God, let her tell me I didn't jump. _

Mary's expression grew sad. _"The waters compassed me about, even to the soul: the depth closed me round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head."_

Bobby didn't recognize the quote. He did, however, know the feeling the words evoked -- fear, panic... terror. He shook off the memory. "You're saying you saw me in the water, but did I jump? Mary, did you see me jump?"

Mary dropped her hand, but didn't yet straighten. A well of tears inexplicably filled her eyes. _"I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument?"_

Shakespeare again. "There was... there was a battle. There was a battle, and-and someone pushed me into the water. Is that what you saw, Mary?"

Mary straightened and returned to her shopping bag and Ganymede. She turned back to face Bobby.

"A grasp of the nature. An understanding." She picked up the bag. "It's an intransitive verb, dear." With a smile, she left, humming softly to herself.

-:-

"Donald says you ain't eating nothing," Bambi said, lowering her large frame to the ground next to where Bobby leaned against the wall. She set a plastic bag between them. "And Doc says he done told you to eat, if you wanna get your strength back."

Bobby rolled his head to the side to look at her. "I'm sure Donald told you I've had some trouble keeping things down."

"Shoot, don't blame you for that. I've seen the kind of crap Donald eats." She peered down into the plastic bag. "That's why I done brought you somethin' I guarantee will stay put in your belly." She pulled out a large foam cup, and Bobby was immediately hit by an aroma that made his stomach growl loudly.

Bambi giggled like a school girl. "Told ya!" She lifted the plastic lid from the cup and took a deep whiff. "Hmmm... Granny Nell's tomato soup. You ain't never gone taste better, and that you can take to your grave as God's gospel truth."

Bobby took the offered cup, relishing both the scent and the warmth against his hand. "Thank you, Miss Rochelle. It was nice of you to go to the trouble."

"Shoot, ain't no trouble. Granny Nell's got a place right around the corner from me. I was practically there already."

"Still..." Bobby smiled broadly. "Thank you."

Bambi held a plastic spoon out to him, but Bobby shook his head. The only way to maneuver a spoon one-handed would be to set the cup down, and he was loathe to give up the warmth he was absorbing from it. Instead, he tilted the cup and took a tentative sip. The hot liquid filled his mouth. For a long minute, he let it sit there, savoring both the flavor and the heat. When his stomach complained with a jealous rumble, he swallowed, his raw throat protesting only minutely.

"Huh? Huh?" Bambi prodded, poking him in the arm. "What'd I tell ya?"

"You were right." Bobby graced her with another smile. "It's very good."

Satisfied, Bambi sat back and watched him drink the soup. "You drink that all up. I'll brang you some more tomorrow."

Bobby didn't lower the cup until it was half empty. "Miss Rochelle--"

"Now how many times I got to remind ya? It's Bambi, sugar."

Bobby rested his head against the wall behind him, rolling it to the side to look at his odd companion. "It seems disrespectful. Besides, 'Miss Rochelle' has an elegant sound to it. It fits you better. Although," he ducked his head to meet her gaze, "you have soft, gentle eyes... like a deer. That-that must be why they... call you Bambi."

To Bobby's surprise, Bambi bowed her head shyly, but not before he saw the rise of heat in her apple-round cheeks. "You best be cutting that kind of talk out right now." But Bobby could tell she'd enjoyed the compliment. "Else you'll be turning my head." She looked back up, batting her long, faux lashes at him. "Smooth talker like you? You must have lady friends lined up for blocks. No wonder I ain't never seen you down 'round this neck of the woods before. You definitely ain't got no need to be paying for somethin' you gettin' plenty of for free."

Bobby laughed, amused by the dichotomy of her shyness and her candor. "Miss Rochelle," he started again. "What... what day is it?"

"Night, you mean. You really think I'm a day person? Honey, it's the middle of the night. Thursday night. Don't know what number on the calendar it is. I got no reason to keep up with that. Hell, I do good to know it's November."

"Thursday... " He lifted the cup and took another sip. "Nearly a week."

Bambi's expression grew pensive. "I think they done give up lookin' for you. Your body, I mean. I overheard a couple of cops down on King Street talking 'bout it. They figure you done washed out into the ocean or somethin'."

Giving up on him. For some reason the words struck sadness into Bobby's heart. Would they have a memorial service now? Probably not, seeing as how they thought he'd attacked Alex and killed himself. Even if they did, who would show up? His mother wouldn't be able to attend, and who knew where Frank was? Even if he knew, he probably wouldn't care, unless he thought there might be something left for him in a will. Not the guys from the station. God, it'd taken so long for them to accept him and his eccentric ways. Some, Bobby suspected, still hadn't.

And certainly not Alex. That her last thoughts of him were that he had hurt her unspeakably... the very idea made the soup in his stomach churn uncomfortably. He set the nearly half-full cup aside, his appetite gone.

"Nuh uh, baby," Bambi protested, pushing the cup back into his hand. "You got to drink all of this. Doc said you ain't eating enough."

"I... I can't..." Bobby was embarrassed to hear how thin his voice was.

Bambi's own tone softened. "Look, sugar, you likely got things running through your head that I'd never be able to understand. Hell, I can only imagine what must be going on in there. But you got to eat something. If you don't want this, I'll go get you something else. What you want? You just tell me, and I'll find it for you."

"No, this is... this is fine. It's more than fine, it's wonderful, and I hope you won't think I'm ungrateful. I just... I can't... " Bobby glanced down at the cup. His hand shook so that the blood red liquid bounced off the walls of the styrofoam, creating small ripples. Blood red liquid... blood red... blood... He closed his eyes against a wave of nausea.

It took many long minutes and many more deep breaths to talk his stomach out of the revolt it seemed determined to launch. When he felt it safe to open his eyes again, he was surprised to see the cup was gone, not just from his hand, but from sight. Bambi was kneeling next him, her face concerned beneath her thick war paint.

"I'm sorry, sugar, I didn't think about the tomato soup looking like... well, bringing back unpleasant memories."

Had he said the words aloud?

Bambi peered closer. "You all right now? You gonna puke?"

Bobby blinked slowly, taking his time before answering. "No... no, I'm okay."

Bambi snorted. "Like hell you are." She plopped back down beside him, moving closer so that their shoulders touched. "You so green you put the grass to shame." She sighed. "Should'a thought about that. The soup, I mean. I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right," Bobby assured her. "It was good."

"Tomorrow, I'll make sure it's slit pea or chicken noodle or something."

Bobby smiled thinly. "That might be a good idea."

They were silent for a minute, then, "It's been a week."

Bambi looked up at him. "Well, to be fair, you was asleep for most of it, and not making much sense for most of the rest of it."

"Do you know... have you seen a newspaper?" He met her gaze. "Have they said anything else... about how the other detective is doing?"

Bambi's bright red lips twisted into a thin, sad grimace. "Honey, I can't read. Well, technically, I can, but not too good. Not good enough to read no newspaper, for sure."

"Oh." The admission caught Bobby off guard. "Well, do you, could you get me one? A newspaper, I mean?"

Bambi's smile returned. "Sure. I can do that."

"I seen that black man, though. The one that's investigatin' what happened. He and a big white dude were down near the pier, looking for somebody that might have been around there Friday night."

"Black man?" Bobby did a quick mental rundown, trying to figure out who would have gotten the case. Kendal Hensley, maybe, or Ben Swith. Both were fair men and would do a good job. That was assuming that the Major Case Squad had the case, though, and Bobby knew that wouldn't necessarily be true. It wouldn't have gone to Homicide, though, because there'd been no murder. Still, the brass might have decided to bounce the case to another department, figuring MCS was too close to it.

"You saw these men?"

"Sure, I talked to 'em."

"Can you describe them?"

"The white dude was a big man, tall, but a little too skinny. Not much muscles. Blond hair, pretty face. I'm talking Brad Pitt pretty, honey. I tell you, I'd do him for free. Hell, I'd probably pay him." She laughed. "Black man wasn't too bad, either, but not pretty. More rugged. Not as tall, but more muscles. Wore his hair slicked back in a pony-tail. Little bit of hair on his face, but not much."

Not Hensley or Swith, then. There was only one black man that Bobby knew who fit that description, and he prayed fervently that it wasn't him, because SVU's presence on this case meant something he couldn't even begin to contemplate. "Odafin..." he whispered.

"Fin, yeah, I heard that name before. Used to be a Narc, but that was before my time. Could'a been him, though."

Bobby forced away the fear that was building in his chest. "When did you talk to the men?"

"Last night. Don't worry, though, all I told 'em was that I weren't no where near Rock Point last week. It was the gospel truth, too. Ain't been down there in two-three months. Hell, ain't none of us girls gonna be working that area 'til they get that jack-fool, Mr. Clean, off the streets."

The prostitute killer... his and Eames' most recent case. The press had dubbed him "Mr. Clean" because of his M.O. of scrubbing the victims clean and dressing them in brand new clothes. He briefly wondered who was working the case now. He hoped they had thought to check his notebook for his notes on the case.

Bobby suddenly frowned in thought. There'd been something... something Friday... some thought that was escaping him. To be truthful, most of Friday was little more than a blur. He remembered the morning clearly enough, but as the day progressed, his memories became more and more blurry, disjointed. All he really remembered was the water, and that wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. He absently rubbed his good hand over the large knot at the back of his skull. He could only hope the memories would return in time.

"White guy... I think his name was Ted or Teddy," Bambi interrupted his thoughts. "'Cause I remember thinking I'd shore love to take that teddy bear to bed with me. Umm, umm, umm! That shore was a pretty man!"

Ted? The only Ted Bobby knew was Ted Waine, newly assigned to Major Case. Did that mean he was mistaken about Fin's involvement in the investigation?

Bobby was becoming more confused by the moment. What he needed was to talk to someone who had some answers. Someone he could trust.

Problem was, everyone thought he was dead, if they found out otherwise, things would get a whole lot stickier for him. He ran through a list of names that he could call. There were plenty whom he could trust to keep the call a secret, but unfortunately, they weren't in a position to have any useful information. What he needed was to talk to someone from the station, someone who could and would help him without giving him away. The last thing he needed was to end up arrested with no way to clear his name.

He didn't even consider Alex. She'd been through enough, possibly more than he even knew, if Fin really was working the case. Besides, she very likely believed he was responsible for what had happened to her. The thought sickened him, but it was a truth he had to accept. At least until he could prove otherwise.

There was only one other person he knew he could count on beyond a shadow of a doubt. All he had to do was find a phone, and to do that, he'd have to get mobile.

"Your mind is running ninety to nothin', sugar. I think I done seen 'bout five hundred emotions flash through your eyes."

Bobby turned to face her. "I need to get back on my feet. Can you help me up?"

"Doc'd have my head, for sure. Your feet--"

"Doc said my feet would be ready to hold me up by the time I felt like giving it a try, and I feel like giving it a try now." He reached for her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. "Please?"

Bambi shook her head, but she climbed to her feet. "Honey, I suspect you could talk a starving pit bull outta his last bone." She reached down a hand to him. "Come on, let's see what you got."

-:-


	7. Chapter 6

_Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! _

-:-

**Chapter 6: Retribution**

_noun_  
1. recompense  
2. the dispensing or receiving of reward or punishment  
3. something given or exacted in recompense

-:-

"That's it," Alex said, tossing the last file into the discard pile. "What does that leave us? Three? Four?"

Fin picked up the lean stack of folders in the 'possibility' pile and counted. "Five. But to be honest, only two really look promising." He pulled out the two and handed them over to Alex.

She glanced at the names on the tabs. "Stanley Ward and... Vernon Scalon." She looked up at Fin. "Who are the other three?"

Fin opened the first file in the stack. "Kathleen Rolf, recently released from Bedford Hills. She definitely had the motive and the financial means, but she's always worked alone, and there ain't no way she had the physical strength to pull this off. Even drugged, Bobby would have been more than she could handle all by herself, and that was definitely a man's voice on the 911 tape."

"She could have hired help, but I agree, she's a long shot. She just didn't have the savvy to cover her tracks as well as this guy did."

"The other two -- Danny Filipova and Wallace Shirley -- have the physical ability, but not the brains." He looked up. "Unless they're working with someone."

Alex nodded. "Let's send uniforms to check out their alibis for last Friday night." She returned her attention to the two files in her hands. "Stanley Ward. I only vaguely remember him. His conviction for murder one was overturned two months ago when the only witness recanted her testimony. He's been out for nearly a month."

She flipped to the next file. "Vernon Scanlon." She tapped a finger on the folder. "Now him, I remember clearly. He's related to the Scanlons down in Memphis, so he definitely has the financial means to set something like this up and hire whatever help he'd need." She skimmed the file.

"What about the smarts?"

"Well, he was hacking into the state's computer network, so yeah, I'd say he had the brains to pull it off. " She frowned.

"What?"

Alex looked up, still frowning. "I just don't see it. Yeah, he'd know about Bobby's way of talking, but how could he have drugged my coffee? He would have had to have access to it outside of the station."

"They checked out the coffee shop first thing. The employees on duty Friday all passed the initial screening, but to be honest, there weren't a whole lotta people who didn't believe that Bobby put the drug in the coffee himself at the time. I say we run 'em again."

Alex nodded. "Can't hurt. Could it have been drugged somewhere between the there and my desk, though? Maybe Bobby was side tracked on the way up. He gets distracted easily, you know."

Fin grinned. "Yeah, I know." The grin faded. "We need to try to retrace his steps in the station, but if that's the case, then we're gonna hafta look at a hell of a lot of support personnel."

"How about a cop?" Waine asked from the doorway.

Alex turned around to look at him. The other detective was standing just inside the conference room, holding a thick file folder up in triumph.

"I wondered where you'd got off to," Fin drawled.

Waine crossed the room and laid the file folder on the table between Alex and Fin. "You two had this angle covered, so I thought I'd take a different tact. I've been going through cases that Goren was involved in that might not have resulted in an arrest. This one," he stabbed a finger at the file, "jumped out at me."

The name across the tab -- Simon Barco -- immediately registered with Alex.

"I remember this." She opened the file. The mug shot of a young white male looked back at her. "He was arrested for the murder of a uniformed officer. Spring, two years ago..."

"Oliver Shu," Waine supplied.

"Yeah, I remember," Fin said, looking at the picture. "Shu and his partner were on a routine domestic altercation call, stumbled across a couple of junkies shooting up. They were caught off guard. Both men were shot, and Shu bled out before the bus could get to 'em."

"I was still in Philly at the time," Waine said. "All I know is what I read in the file."

"Barco was arrested for the shooting and was set to go to trial," Alex explained, "but Bobby was never convinced that we had the right man. He stayed on it, even after the trial started. It looked like a shoe-in for a conviction, but right before it went to the jury, Bobby found evidence that proved Barco wasn't the shooter. To be honest, I don't even remember what it was now, but I guess that isn't important."

She paused a moment, her forehead creasing as she thought about it. "Barco was a male prostitute. Claimed he was too stoned to remember for sure who he was with. Said it was just some random guy he'd picked up down near the bus station, and that he'd never known the guy's name."

"Perp was never found," Fin said. "Not a lot of people were happy with Bobby for getting Barco off. They wanted somebody's head to roll, even if it wasn't the right head. And a lot of 'em felt like Barco was guilty, even if he didn't pull the trigger."

"Barco was convicted of the drug charges and fleeing the scene. I think he got three years," Alex said.

"According to the file," Waine filled in, "he made parole a month ago. I don't imagine too many people were thrilled with the news."

Fin picked up a paper from the file and skimmed over it. "Starting with Shu's partner. Donovan Ellis."

"He was injured in the shooting," Alex remembered. "Took a bullet in the shoulder that left him with limited mobility. He was put on desk duty for a while, but I think he ended up in dispatch."

"Sounds like a lot of reason to be bitter to me," Fin said. "Good work, Ted."

Alex stood. "We're gonna need something more solid than some hard feelings to go on before we can take this to the captain."

Fin grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "Come on, Ted, let's see what we can scare up."

-:-

"Donovan Ellis?" Fin addressed the pair of legs sticking out from under the Chevy S10 on blocks in the driveway of Ellis' Queens house.

The legs stilled, then rolled out from under the truck. The young man laid there for a minute while he studied Fin and Waine. "Who wants to know?"

Waine flashed his badge. "Detectives Ted Waine and Fin Tutuola, Major Case. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

Ellis heaved himself up with a grunt. Fin took a minute to appraise the man. He was a bit shorter than Fin's own height, and whether from too many beers, too much fast food, or a simple neglect, it was clear, even through his greasy coveralls, that once well-honed muscles were now giving way to an unnatural thickness, concentrated around his middle. A knit cap was pulled low, covering the tips of his ears, but a fringe of dark curls escaped to hang limply against his cold-flushed, large-featured face.

Ellis wiped a dirty hand across his red nose. "What's this about?"

"We're investigating the attack on Detective Alex Eames," Waine said. "I'm sure you've read about it in the papers."

Fin watched the man, gauging his reaction, but was unprepared for the deep, robust bark of laughter that issued from him.

"You think it's funny what happened to Detective Eames?" Fin asked, his blood getting hot.

"Oh, hell, no." Ellis sobered, though a glint of amusement continued to dance in his eyes. "No, I'm sorry about Detective Eames. I wouldn't wish that on anybody. Not even her."

Fin stepped closer to the man. "What's that supposed to mean? Not even her?"

"Hell, she knew what she was getting into when she partnered up with that ticking time bomb. Everybody knew it was just a matter of time before he snapped. I mean, honestly, who's surprised?"

Waine stepped into the man, stopping only inches from his face. "Detective Goren was a brilliant man and a brilliant cop, and _that_," he punctuated the word with a finger to Ellis' chest that stopped just short of touching him, "is what everybody knew."

Fin hid a smile of satisfaction to see Ellis shrink back from the much larger man, his face turning a comical shade of green. "That's enough, Ted. Dial it back down." Fin tugged not too insistently on Waine's arm.

Waine took a deep breath, remaining in Ellis' space until after he'd expelled it.

Ellis shook himself, visibly bucking himself back up. "He was brilliant, all right. Too bloody damn brilliant for his own good."

"That sounds like a threat to me," Waine said. He looked over at Fin. "Sound like a threat to you, Detective?"

"Can't very well threaten a dead man now, can you?" Ellis turned his back on the two detectives and moved to the front of the truck, where he opened the hood and made a pretense of peering under it.

Fin and Waine followed, planting themselves on either side of him.

"All I meant," Ellis explained, still not looking up, "is that it was his so-called brilliance that kept Simon Barco from frying. That's all I'm saying. Too bloody damn brilliant."

"Barco was innocent," Fin stated flatly.

Ellis did look up then, his eyes practically boiling with suppressed anger. "Innocent?! I don't care if he pulled the damned trigger or not. He was there, and he was shooting up with the guy that did pull it. Then, instead of calling for help, he ran off. If he'd taken thirty seconds to call for help, Ollie might still be alive. In my book, he's every bit as guilty as if he had been the one to pull the trigger. _Every bit!_"

"So then it's safe to say you're upset that Barco is back out on the streets after barely two years."

"Upset? Hell, yeah, I'm upset! My career is all but ended and a good cop, _a good man_ is dead." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "And nobody paid for it. Nobody."

"You figure Barco knew who the guy was," Fin said, sensing a deeper resentment. "And that he just didn't want to roll over on him."

"Hell, he'd just had sex with the guy, for Christ's sake, and he couldn't even remember what race he was?"

"He was pretty stoned at the time," Waine pointed out.

Ellis sighed deeply. "Look, this is old news, right?" He looked from one detective to the other. "Unless you guys got something new on the case?" Hope colored his tone.

"Like I said, we're investigating the attack on Detective Eames."

Disappointment radiated off of Ellis. "What's to investigate? Open and shut. Goren flipped out, beat his partner up and then took the coward's way out by jumping off a pier, which is just as well, if you ask me. Saves the trouble of a trial." He slammed the hood shut with more force than was necessary.

"What there is to investigate," Fin said, taking care to enunciate the words slowly and carefully, "is a crime against one, possibly two, New York City police detectives. Last time I looked, that's what cops do. They investigate crime."

"You see, Ellis," Waine said, "we're not entirely sure your version of what happened to Detective Eames is what really happened."

"What version? I'm only telling you what everybody knows. What the papers are saying."

"That might not be the way it went down," Fin said.

"Yeah, right." Ellis stepped around Waine and squatted down beside a red toolbox.

"You got something to say?" Fin asked.

Ellis looked up. "One of your own cracked and went haywire. Doesn't look good for the department, not to mention the brass. Stands to reason you'll do anything it takes to clear his name.

"Just like _some_ people," Fin's pointed look made it clear exactly who he was talking about, "will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what the evidence says."

Ellis stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cut to the chase, Detective. What's any of this got to do with me?" Realization dawned in his eyes even as he spoke. He uncrossed his arms and held up his hands. "Whoa, now, wait a goddamn minute here!"

"Where were you last Friday night?"

"Oh, no you don't! You ain't gonna pin this on me. You're looking for a scapegoat to keep that lunatic's name clear, but it ain't gonna be me."

"Just answer the man's question," Waine suggested, leaning toward Ellis. "You give us an alibi for Friday night and we'll be on our way."

"I was here. All night. Never left the house."

"Your wife verify that?" Fin asked.

Ellis glanced toward the house. "She was at her sister's in Jersey."

"So you were alone? All night? Is there anyone who can confirm that?"

"Look, I was here all night, and no, no one can verify it." Ellis took a step toward the house.

"You look a little nervous all of a sudden, Mr. Ellis," Waine pointed out. "Is there something you want to tell us? Maybe something you want to get off your chest?"

"You're on a fishing expedition. You've got no evidence that points to me, or you'd have already arrested me. So if you're all through trying to intimidate me, this conversation is officially at an end." He turned his back on the men and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Now that looks like a man with something to hide," Waine said.

-:-

"I'm sorry, but 'he's acting suspicious' isn't enough for me to get you a search warrant." Assistant District Attorney Ron Carver's soft tone accompanied an apologetic expression.

Waine leaned against the back wall of Deakins' office and sighed. "Well, we knew it was a long shot, but we had to try."

"If you had something concrete, some actual piece of evidence...?" Carver suggested.

"If we had that, we'd be asking for an arrest warrant," Fin said.

"I'm as anxious to prove Detective Goren's innocence as any of you, I assure you, but if I get you a search warrant based on what you've got right now, I'll be jeopardizing the legitimacy of the entire investigation." Carver picked up his coat and headed for the door. "Get back to me when you get some hard evidence."

Once the ADA was gone, Deakins leaned back in his chair, letting it rock slightly. "You knew that's what he'd say. We need something else, some justifiable reason to search his home." He looked at Alex. "Did you talk to his wife?"

"Ellis was telling the truth about her being at her sister's in Jersey City. What he didn't say was that she's been there for a couple of months. According to Mrs. Ellis, they're separated, though neither has filed for divorce yet. I got the feeling she's hoping for a reconciliation." She pulled a chair closer to Deakins' desk and sat down.

"She say what the problem was?"

"She wasn't all that anxious to talk about it. She did say, though, that Shu's murder and Ellis' own injury changed him. She said he's been withdrawn and angry, which is understandable under the circumstances. Reading between the lines, I got the impression he was taking some of that anger out on her."

"He hit her?"

Alex shook her head. "No, I don't think so, just a lot of fighting from the sound of it."

"I can see why Ellis might have been angry enough at Goren to want revenge, but why him and not Barco? Seems like that would be his first target." He turned his gaze to Fin and Waine. "Find out what Barco has to say. Let's see if we can't come up with something a little more concrete to give Carver."

-:-

Finding Barco turned out to be more complicated than it should have been, given that he was on parole and his whereabouts were supposed to be a matter of record, but once a BOLO was issued, he was located and picked up for parole violation.

Alex rubbed at the creases in her forehead as she mentally replayed the ferret-faced man's interrogation. He'd been pissed at the whole lot of them, and after hearing how Ellis had harassed him since his parole, she could understand why. Every time he landed a legitimate job -- not an easy feat for an ex-prostitute with no other skills -- Ellis had managed to get him fired. Same for his places of residence. A word here, a threat there, info to the neighbors that a "cop killer" was living in their building; it didn't take much, and Ellis clearly knew how to play the game like an expert.

Harassment, yes, but nothing to tie Ellis to the attack. Alex. She was growing more frustrated as the hours ticked by with no new leads.

"Call it a day, guys. It's getting late."

Alex looked up to see Deakins watching her from his office door, concern clouding his expression. Concern for her. She was pushing her limits, she knew, but it was no more or less than Bobby would do if the roles were reversed. She looked around the squad room, only now realizing that the day shift had somehow cleared out without her noticing. Only she and Fin remained at their desks.

Fin closed the file he was looking through with a loud snap. "Might as well blow this joint. Ain't nothing else we can do tonight."

"And what? Start back from scratch tomorrow?" she asked.

"If we have to."

Alex nodded. Yes, if they had to. Whatever they had to do, that's what they would do. "Right." She began shutting down her computer. "Back from scratch. Again."

Deakins pushed off the door frame he'd been leaning on and approached their desks. "You both still think Ellis is a viable suspect?"

Neither detective answered for a long minute. Alex was the first to reply. "As viable as any we have right now."

"It's better than nothing, then," Deakins said, bringing his hands to rest on his hips. "We might not have enough yet to convince Carver to get us a warrant, but luckily, I don't need a warrant to assign a surveillance detail to him. I don't know how much good it'll do, but it beats twiddling our thumbs." He surveyed the nearly empty room. "I'll clear it with the chief and get the ball rolling. You guys go home. Get some rest." He turned toward his office. "Tomorrow's going to be another long one," he called over his shoulder.

Fin stood and rounded the desk to stand beside Alex. "You heading home? Need a ride?"

Alex looked up, shaking her head. "No, to both questions. I think... I think I'm going to ride out to Carmel Ridge, see if I can get in to see Bobby's mother."

Fin sat on the edge of Alex's desk. "I don't think that's a good idea."

She raised an eyebrow in question. "Someone needs to try to explain to her what's going on. As Bobby's partner, I think I should--"

"I understand where you're coming from, Alex, but it's not that simple." He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I called out there right after I was assigned to this case. I wanted to check on her, and to let the doctors know why Bobby wouldn't be coming out to see her for a while. I didn't tell them everything, but I'm sure they'd read the papers. It wasn't easy, but I managed to convince them not to tell her anything until we knew for sure."

Alex nodded. "Even though at the time you were the only one who thought he was alive." It wasn't a question.

Fin chuckled. "Even though. Didn't see where it could hurt, waiting a few days." He was silent for a minute. "Look, Alex, I don't know how much Bobby's told you about his mom, but... well, she has good days and bad." He chuckled again, ruefully, this time. "Might be more accurate to say she has good days and bad months. Right now, she's in a bad one. Has been for a while, from what I was told. I'm not sure she could deal with the truth of what's going on."

"That might explain why Bobby's been a little... off the past few weeks. He hasn't really talked about her much, but I do know that sometimes... sometimes she can be a little much to deal with. I can always tell when she's not doing well by the way he acts. If it was worse this time, that might explain his depression."

"Could be," Fin agreed. "Guess we won't know until we find him to ask him, and that won't be until tomorrow morning, at the earliest."

"I thought I told you two to get out of here," Deakins called from his office.

"Going!" Fin called back, standing and offering a hand up to Alex. "Come on, girl. I'll buy you a burger on the way out."

-:-


	8. Chapter 7

_I've just realized that in the process of uploading the chapters, occasionally a paragraph break disappears, scrunching two paragraphs into one, which is especially embarrassing when it ends up looking like two different characters are talking in the same paragraph or confuses who is actually speaking. Sigh. I've gone back and fixed the ones I found, but something may still have slipped through. I apologize if this makes reading difficult. _

**-:-**

**Chapter 7: Excursion**

_noun_  
1: a going out or forth  
2: deviation from a direct, definite, or proper course  
3: the distance traversed

-:-

Bobby made it as far as the "door" before he had to stop. He rested a minute, then turned and limped slowly back the way he'd just come. When he reached the back wall of the room, he leaned his head against the cool, damp concrete wall and waited for his breath to even out. It took a lot longer than he'd have liked.

Every step was agony. It seemed his heart had fallen into his feet, beating sharply in each and every cut. He was sure he'd busted open some of the deeper wounds. He looked over his shoulder at the path he'd been walking, and sure enough, bright red splotches marked his journey.

He pushed away from the wall, and resumed the exercise. There was no choice. He'd sat on his ass long enough. The only way to get his strength back was to keep moving -- despite the pain. Or maybe because of it.

"You're messing up my floor, you know?"

Bobby glanced over at Donald, sitting against the wall on Bobby's makeshift bed.

"I'm sorry." Bobby resumed his journey. He reached the door and again stopped to catch his breath.

"Don't assume I care. I'm just making conversation."

Bobby turned to look at the man. "Why did you take me in, Donald?"

"Told you."

"You had dibs, yeah, I know." Bobby set off again. "What's the real reason? What's in it for you?"

Donald shrugged. "Maybe I just felt sorry for you."

Bobby grimaced as he put his weight on a particularly tender spot. "Aren't you afraid that what they say about me might be true? That I-I... that I snapped. That I might do it again?"

Donald laughed. "I don't think outrunning you right now would be much of a problem."

Bobby chuckled despite himself. "I see your point."

"Hell, man, I got more evil in my little finger than you got in your whole body. I ain't afraid of nobody. Besides, I think even my kid could hold his own against you in your present condition."

Bobby's head snapped around. "You have a kid?"

Another shrug. "Somewhere. 'less he died or something, which, given what a puny-assed little brat he was, could be entirely possible. Likely someone with half a ball done put him out of his misery." Donald growled under his breath. "I don't wanna talk about that."

Bobby reached the wall and stopped for another short break. "You should call him. Or go see him."

"I told you I don't wanna talk about him!"

Bobby turned away, heading for the door once more and trying to ignore the rubbery feel of his lower limbs. He knew he was overdoing it, but an urgency to get back up to speed spurred him on.

"Besides, I don't even know where he is."

"When did you see him last?"

Donald took a deep breath. "Oh... 'bout... twelve, fifteen years ago now, I reckon. Huh! Guess he ain't a kid anymore. That'd make him... hell, I don't know. Grown, though."

"Kids always need their fathers," Bobby said, quietly. "It's not something they outgrow."

"Your old man leave you?"

Bobby threw a look over his shoulder. "I thought we were talking about you."

"Don't want to."

"Then let's find a safer subject."

"Too much water under that bridge, huh?" Donald let out a humorless snort of laughter. "So... you do realize you're messing up my floor, right?"

Bobby shook his head with a half-smile. "Sorry."

"Don't care. Just changing the subject."

Bobby switched directions, heading for the pallet. He lowered himself beside Donald with a sigh.

"You done, huh?"

"For now."

"Held out longer than I'd have figured."

Bobby sat catching his breath for a few minutes. Then, "I need to get some clothes."

"What's wrong with what you got? I had to make three trades before I found some long enough for you. You ain't a short man, you know?"

"These are good," Bobby said, afraid he'd offended the other man. "They've been very warm and... they've served their purpose just fine. But I need something I can wear up on the streets."

"Going somewhere?"

Bobby glanced at the man, not certain if he'd heard a warning in the question. Donald's face was unreadable. "I can't just sit around down here for the rest of my life. I have to... I have to find out what happened. I need to see how my partner is..."

"You gonna solve your own case?"

"I don't know," Bobby admitted. "But I have to try."

"What's the plan?"

"Right now? To get my strength back... and to find some clothes."

Donald looked at him for a minute. "You'll need shoes."

Bobby smiled. "Know where I can get some?"

-:-

"Try these," Bambi tossed a pair of raggedy gray sneakers on the floor beside Bobby. "Got 'em at Sally's Boutique."

Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"Salvation Army Thrift Store," she explained. "Back home, we always called it Sally's Boutique. Sounds nicer." She turned the plastic bag she was holding upside down. "Jeans, sweater, socks, skivvies... Anything the wrong size, better let me know now."

Bobby rummaged one-handed through the pile of clothes. "It looks right." He glanced up. "I owe you, Miss Rochelle."

Donald came through the door with an armload of plastic gallon jugs filled with water. "Your bath," he explained, setting the jugs down. "Ain't hot, but it'll get the stink off." He grabbed a torn square of terry cloth off of the top of a nearby box and tossed it at Bobby. "You'll have to keep the beard. Ain't got no razor or soap. That's likely a good idea anyhow, since you don't need to be broadcasting the fact you ain't dead."

Bobby struggled to his feet with Bambi's help. "Thank you both. I'll... I'll make it up to you, I promise... once this is all straightened out."

"Shoot, honey, you don't owe us nothin'--" Bambi said.

"Speak for yourself, woman," Donald interrupted. "I ain't too proud to take a handout or two."

"It's not a handout if you're owed it," Bobby said. "You two, you've saved my life. Don't think I take that lightly, and don't think I'll ever forget it."

"You gon' need some help undressing," Bambi asked, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

"That may be the best offer I've had in weeks, Miss Rochelle," Bobby said, "but I think I can handle it."

"Get on out of here, Bambi, and let the man undress in peace," Donald said, giving her a not-so-light push toward the door.

Bobby felt his cheeks redden at the look she cast toward him as she dutifully exited the room.

Donald produced a deep metal bowl from one of his many cardboard boxes and set it on top of an upturned crate serving as a table. He uncapped one of the plastic jugs and poured it into the bowl.

Ignoring the cold, wet bite of the ever present wind, Bobby began undressing.

An hour later, he was topside, and that not without a good bit of trouble. He had not stopped to remember how deep into the tunnels Donald's lair was. Unfortunately, the only way up and out involved more climbing than he was really capable of, given that he only had one useable hand and no real strength to speak of. The effort ate deeply into his meager energy reserves, and it took him far too long to regain the strength of will to proceed. By the time he and Bambi made their way toward a more populated area -- her "territory," she informed him -- it was nearly midnight.

"Well, sugar, you certainly smell better." Bambi's eyes roved up and down his frame, an approving smile twitching at her lips. "Um-um-um! Honey, you are one nice looking man, even with all that hair on your face."

Bobby looked down at himself. The clothes were decent and his body was clean, relatively speaking, but he couldn't really say he felt much better.

A drunk passing by swayed and nearly bumped into Bobby. Bambi grabbed his sleeve and pulled him out of the way, inadvertently bumping his left hand where it rested in his coat pocket. Bobby winced as pain shot up to his shoulder.

"Oh, sugar, I'm sorry," she was quick to apologize. "Come 'ere." She grabbed his coat again, carefully avoiding the injured arm, and pulled him closer to her. Whenever someone ventured too close, Bambi placed her rather large frame between that person and Bobby.

"Where are you from, Miss Rochelle," Bobby asked, hoping the small talk would help him to ignore the many aches and pains making themselves known.

"How you know I ain't from around here?"

"You mentioned 'back home' earlier," he reminded her. "Besides, your accent... it gives you away. Southern?"

"Bingo. Mississippi, born and bred, though I been here so long now, you'd think I'd be losing the accent. Followed a boy up here when I was barely sixteen and didn't have a lick of sense in my head. He disappeared a year later, and the rest, as they say, is history."

"Ever think about going back?"

She cast him a sideways glance. "To what? Honey, at my age, what I gonna be doing back down in Mississippi? Hooking? I can do that here just fine, thank you very much."

"Do you have family there?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Don't know. Don't care." With another glance at him, she added, "You think if I'd had a family worth a damn I'd-a followed that jack-fool boy up here in the first place?"

"Don't you worry about what you do right now, though? I mean, given that there's a killer out there targeting women... in your profession?"

"Ain't exactly a safe profession when there ain't a killer out there."

"Still..."

Bambi took a deep breath, letting it out slow. "I'd be lying to you if I said I ain't scared, but hell, sugar, what else I gonna do? A big ol' girl like me, can't even read a lick? I make a living, and I don't collect no food stamps. Don't know if I could say the same if I was to try my hand at something else."

Bobby stopped in his tracks. It took Bambi a couple of steps to realize he wasn't beside her. She turned to face him. "What's wrong, honey? You need to rest a minute? You are looking a might peaked." She took his arm, and attempted to guide him out of the middle of the sidewalk. "Come on, over here--"

"There are other options," Bobby stated matter-of-factly. "There are always options."

"Hell!" Bambi frowned at him. "Don't you be getting no fancy notions 'bout redeeming me, sugar. I like my life just fine the way it is. I got friends, I got a roof over my head, and I make decent money. I ain't looking for no knight in shining armor to rescue me from this 'life o' sin and shame.'"

"You sound like you've heard it all before."

Bambi snorted. "Every Sunday morning down at the Waterfront Mission. And don't you dare say a word about me attending church, sweet pants. Judge not, unless you wanna be judged yourself. Ain't that what the Good Book says?" The smile in her eyes belied the berating tone of her words.

Bobby smiled. "I wouldn't dare judge you, Miss Rochelle." His tone became serious. "If you should ever decide you would like to stretch your wings, try something else for a while..." He hesitated. He'd been about to suggest she call him, but he had no reason to assume he would be getting his life back any time soon. If at all. "Call Alex Eames at Major Case Squad. She used to work in Vice. She's a good person. She'll help you."

The smile in the woman's eyes faded, replaced by a tired resolve. "Don't reckon I'll ever be needing to make that call."

"Remember her name, though. Just in case. Okay?"

After a minute, she gave a short nod. "Come on," she said, pulling on his sleeve. "The quicker you get this damn-fool call made, the quicker you can get back to bed."

Bobby gave up and fell into step beside her. His plan was to get as far from his place of refuge as he could before making his call, knowing it could be, and likely would be, traced. Within thirty minutes, however, he couldn't hide his limp from Bambi's sharp eyes.

"You're done, sugar," she declared, coming to a stop. "Don't forget you gotta save something for the trip back."

Bobby couldn't find the will or the energy to argue. He knew he was at his limits. He surveyed the area, but saw no visible cops, though it was unlikely he'd draw their attention anyhow. Not only was his appearance changed enough to slip under their radar, but, he reminded himself, he was currently presumed dead. That, however, would soon change. His life was about to become much more complicated.

-:-


	9. Chapter 8

-:-

**Chapter 8: Communication**

_noun_  
1: an act or instance of transmitting  
2: a verbal or written message  
3: a process by which information is exchanged between individuals

-:-

Fin glanced at the digital display on his muted car stereo and frowned. The night was nearly gone and time would soon be crawling toward the early morning hours. He promised himself a half-hour more of searching, knowing he wouldn't be fresh enough to start back in the morning if he pushed it any more than that.

He took a right at the intersection and cruised slowly down the street. This time of night, a time when suburbia was tucked safely in their beds, neighborhoods like this one were hopping with activity. His eyes scanned the faces of the men and women and in-betweens he passed, looking for any hint of familiarity; someone who would not only talk to him, but possibly have some shred of useable information.

Frustration was giving birth to defeat, and defeat was in turn breeding doubt. It'd been eight days since the attack. Eight days with no body, which gave him hope that Bobby might still be alive somewhere, possibly hiding out, certainly injured to some degree. But it'd also been eight days of not one goddamn clue to support that theory. And Fin knew that if he didn't find something soon, Deakins was going to call his hand. Both Cragen and Deakins were going to the mat for Fin, and the Chief of D's was, so far, backing both captains, but eventually this investigation was going to have to produce some positive results or Fin was going to be sent back to SVU.

Not that that would end Fins participation in it in any way other than on paper. He damn sure intended to see this through to the end... no matter what that end might be.

Fin glanced at the clock on the dashboard again, and sighed. He was going to have to call it a night. He could hear the birthing cry of frustration even now, as it pushed forth the tiny, fresh-born defeat into Fin's world. He frowned and turned his car east at the next light, heading toward home with the promise that he'd start fresh first thing in the morning.

His cell phone rang and he quickly pulled to the curb, putting the SUV into park before picking it up with a silent prayer that it was one of his many snitches with some information. He didn't immediately recognize the number, and that gave him hope.

"Speak to me."

"Fin? Please, tell me I didn't wake you..."

He pushed down a stab of disappointment. "Alex, no, you didn't. I'm just heading home now."

"Good..." The line was silent for a few seconds. "Ted told me you were going down to talk to some people you know. I just wondered..."

"You're hoping I picked up something," Fin finished when she stopped.

"Did you?"

There was so much hope in her voice that he hated to dash it. "I'm sorry, Alex, no. Nothing."

She sighed, and the sound carried all the disappointment Fin was feeling himself. "I thought we'd have found something by now."

"Yeah, me, too." Ignoring his own newly spawned doubts, he said, "Don't give up hope, Alex. Not until we've turned over ever rock out here."

"It's been eight days. If he's out there somewhere, if he's alive... where is he, Fin? Why wouldn't he have contacted someone by now?"

"I know this much about Bobby Goren, Alex: If he doesn't want to be found, he ain't gonna be. He's too good."

She didn't immediately answer, and he could picture her in his mind trying to convince herself he was right. "But..."

"I know," he said into her hesitation. "What if he's hurt? I keep asking myself the same thing. Bobby can take care of himself, Alex. He's resourceful, he'll be okay--" Fin's phone beeped, signaling another incoming call. He pulled it away from his ear and looked at the display. The number was unfamiliar. One of his informants, he hoped. Putting the phone quickly back to his ear, he said, "Look, Alex, I got a call coming in that I gotta take. You get some rest. I'll talk to you in the morning." He ended the call before she could reply, crossing his fingers as he switched over to the other line.

"Tutuola."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Tut?"

The hair on Fin's neck stood on end. The voice was nearly unrecognizable -- scratchy and hoarse -- but there was only one person on this earth who had _ever_ called him "Tut" and lived to tell about it.

"Son of a bitch..." he muttered before he could stop himself. "Bobby!"

"Tut, please... don't hang up..."

"Hang up? You do realize I've been riding up and down the roads for days, talking to anybody and everybody who'll give me five minutes, just looking for some damn sign that you're still alive? Now why in the hell would I hang up on you? My God, Bobby..." Fin squeezed his eyes tight against the sudden burning there. "We thought you were dead, man."

"I know. I-I saw a paper..." Bobby's voice was soft, hesitant.

"Where in the hell are you? HOW are you? There was blood..."

"I'm okay now. I'm fine. Tut... I only have a few minutes. I had to borrow the change to make this call, and I've got no more, so when my time limit is up, I'll have to hang up. I have to know, Tut... Alex... the paper said she'd... Is she okay? Was she... SVU's investigating, that means she was..."

Fin realized what Bobby was thinking and hurried to put his mind at ease. "No, Bobby, she wasn't raped."

He heard an exhaled, "Thank God..."

"She's okay, Bobby. Just bruised and sore, for the most part, and she's emotionally on edge, but she's going to be okay."

"But SVU--"

"I've been temporarily reassigned to the Major Case Squad for the duration of this investigation, and believe me when I say, I had to pull in every favor I'll ever even think somebody might owe me to pull that off. So, when you get your ass back here, you are gonna owe me, man!"

"Tut, I can't... I don't..."

The desperation in the quiet voice put a hitch in Fin's breath. If there was one word he'd always associated with Bobby Goren, it was confident, but the man on the other end of the phone line was anything but. His voice, his tone was tentative, unsure. And afraid.

"The papers are saying I did it, Tut, and I want to believe that I would never, could never hurt Alex, but... I don't remember. I can't remember what I did or didn't do. And I can't convince myself that I didn't--"

"Bobby, wait, listen to me, man. You didn't do it. You hear me, Bobby? You didn't do it, I swear. Trust me, okay? You didn't hurt Alex."

"She remembers the attack? She knows I didn't do it? The paper said she didn't remember anything."

Fin sighed. "No, she doesn't. She was given Rohypnol; she's not ever gonna remember."

"That's... maybe that's why I can't remember... "

"Makes sense."

"That or the concussion. I... I hit my head... in the water, I think."

"So you were in the water."

There was a short pause. "How do you know I didn't do it, Tut? If neither she nor I remember what happened, how do you know it wasn't me?"

Fin shifted the phone to his other ear. "First off, I know you, Bobby. You ain't got violence in you, man. Ain't no way you'd ever hurt anyone, especially your partner. And she knows that, too."

"Alex believes I'm innocent?" Bobby latched onto the words, and there was a world of desperation in his question.

Fin was happy he could set Bobby's mind at ease on at least this one point. "Alex has never believed otherwise, Bobby. She knows you didn't do it."

Bobby sucked in a noisy breath, which turned into a coughing fit that last far too long. When it finally ended, Fin could hear Bobby gasping for breath, and a woman's voice in the background. He strained to hear her words, but couldn't.

"Bobby? Tell me where you are, man? I'm gonna come get you."

"No..." Bobby had to stop again to catch his breath. "No, Tut, please, don't ask me to do that. You would have to turn me in, and I can't let you do that. Not yet. I've got to... got to find something, some evidence that will clear me. I have to make myself remember."

"If you were given Rohypnol, you ain't gonna remember, Bobby. Come on, man, you're hurt and you're sick, I can hear it for myself, and you ain't going to assure me otherwise with an 'I'm fine' and 'I'm okay.' At the very least you need to see a doctor. More likely a hospital."

"Really, Tut, I am okay... I'm much better than I was."

Fin wasn't buying it, but he let it go, knowing if the roles were reversed, there was no way in hell he'd turn himself in just to be thrown in jail. "You always were a stubborn son of a bitch."

"My time is almost up, Tut. I'll try to call back when I can, but it may be awhile." Bobby took a ragged breath, followed by a soft cough. "I know I'm putting you in a tough position, Tut, so tell them, okay? Tell them about the call, and let them trace the number. Don't get yourself into trouble over me. I'll be long gone by the time they get here."

"Bobby, you sure about this? If you're not ready to turn yourself in, at least let me get some money to you--"

"And get you arrested for aiding and abetting? No, Tut, but thanks for the offer." A warning beep sounded. "My time's up, but I need to ask you something real quick... My mom... is she all right? Has she been told...?

"Don't worry about your mother," Fin assured him. "I've been checking on her, and no, I talked her doctors into waiting to tell her anything until we actually had something to tell her."

The warning beeped once more. "Tut, tell Alex--"

The connection was severed before he could finish the sentence.

Fin swore vehemently. As pleased -- hell, ecstatic! -- as he was to have gotten the call from Bobby, there'd barely been enough time to cover Bobby's basic questions, much less for Fin to ask some of his own. He'd just have to hope that Bobby called back in the very near future.

But, goddammit! Bobby was alive!

A grin nearly split Fin's face as he let the realization wash over him. Bobby was alive! All that was left to do was clear his name so he could come home.

Fin flipped back open his cell phone, knowing there was one other person who needed the information every bit as much, if not more, than he had. He scrolled through his recent calls to Alex's number, and punched the connect button. She answered on the second ring.

"Fin?" Her voice was filled with expectation. Not surprising, he figured. Why else would he be calling this time of the night if not with news, good or bad?

Making a sudden decision to give her the news face to face, he simply told her, "If you ain't dressed, get that way quick. I'm on my way over. I've got news, girl. Good news. Oh, and put on some coffee. This is turning into a long damned night."

-:-

Alex pulled a loose sweatshirt over her pajama top and headed for the kitchen to check on the progress of the coffee. Halfway there, the doorbell rang and she detoured, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to answer it. She'd been a nervous wreck ever since Fin's call, imagining all kinds of scenarios, but afraid to get her hopes up too much. His news could be anything. It could be nothing. No, he wouldn't come all the way to her house for "nothing news." Besides, she had easily heard the satisfaction in his voice.

She yanked open the door without even bothering to verify who was on the other side of it. Not a wise move, especially for a cop, but she was too anxious to do much more than silently berate herself.

Fin was standing on her stoop, with a grin so wide she thought it might just swallow the rest of his face. "Bobby called me."

Alex felt the color drain from her face. She was certain she had heard him wrong, because there was no way he had said what she _thought_ he had said. "Bobby... What?"

Fin walked past her into the house. "He called me. He's alive, Alex."

Alex followed him into the living room and dropped unceremoniously into a chair. "He's alive... my God..." She looked up. "How is he? Is her hurt?

Fin sat down on the edge of the couch and leaned forward. "He kept telling me he was fine."

Her brow creased. "You didn't believe him."

"He didn't sound fine."

Alex closed her eyes for a long minute, collecting her wits and steadying her nerves. Opening them again, she said, "I want to know everything, every last word, from the beginning."

Fin sat back, making himself comfortable. "I gotta have some coffee first. It's gonna be a long night."

She let out a quick, frustrated breath and stood, heading for the kitchen. Barely a minute later, she returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to Fin. "I don't remember how you take it."

"Black's fine."

Alex sat and took a quick sip of the hot, bitter liquid. She was shivering, and though she suspected it had little to do with the chill in the air, she pulled the afghan from the back of her chair and wrapped it around her. Once she had settled back into the chair, she looked expectantly at the man sitting across from her.

"When you were talking to me, that was Bobby who called on your other line, wasn't it?"

Fin nodded. "Yeah, it was. Damn, girl... can you imagine how startled I was to hear his voice on the other end of the line?"

Alex lifted one corner of her mouth in silent reply. Yeah, she could well imagine. She couldn't help a tiny ember of hurt that she had not been the one Bobby had chosen to contact. She pushed it away. Her feelings weren't what was important. All that mattered in was that Bobby was alive.

"He thought I was gonna hang up on him." Fin chuckled. "Might be because I called him a son of a bitch."

"What?!"

"Alex, when I answered that phone, Bobby Goren's voice was about the last thing I expected to hear. Caught me off guard." He picked up the other cup and took a sip, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "He said he'd seen the papers."

"Damn," Alex whispered. "He probably thinks we believe he's guilty, too, then.'" She met the other detective's eyes. "Did he say what happened? Who it was that attacked us? Was it Ellis?"

Fin frowned. "He doesn't remember any more than you do."

"He was drugged, too?"

"I don't know, maybe, but he also said he hit his head."

"So he is hurt!" She uncurled and set her cup back on the tray in one swift movement, and then stood, letting the afghan fall to the floor. "We've got to go find him, Fin--"

Fin made no move to get up. "Where do you propose we look?"

Alex threw her hands wide. "I don't know, but we can't just sit here, knowing he's out there somewhere in the cold, hurt. God, Fin, for all we know he doesn't even have anywhere to go."

"We just had this conversation on the phone less than an hour ago, Alex. Bobby is resourceful. He's capable of taking care of himself."

"I know, but--"

"No buts, you have to trust him when he says he's all right."

"Even if it's a lie?"

"Even if it's a lie."

Alex sighed, long and drawn out and full of all the anguish she felt, then sat back down. She didn't retrieve her coffee or the afghan. "He's hurt, Fin."

"And sick."

Her head jerked up. "Sick?"

"He sounded rough. Wheezing and coughing... and his voice was rough."

"Like he had the flu..." Fear filled her chest. "Or pneumonia... Fin, if Ellis did throw him in the river, as cold as it is..."

Fin met her gaze, but didn't reply.

"We have to find him. He needs a doctor!"

Fin shook her head. "He won't turn himself in, Alex. I tried to reason with him, but he thinks he'll be arrested, and he's not wrong. We all think Ellis did it, but there's not enough hard evidence, and the stronger case is against Bobby. You know they'd go after him. Especially with neither of you being able to remember anything that happened. That just leaves the evidence, and you know it's damning."

"Damn it!" Alex rarely swore, but sometimes, circumstances demanded it. She stood and moved around the chair, wrapping her arms tight about herself. "If I could remember--"

"You know you ain't going to, Alex."

"I know, but... just a face... or a voice. Something, damn it! Just something that would prove that someone else was there. That it wasn't Bobby."

"That would make it too easy." He chuckled. "Since when has anything ever been that easy? Come on, Alex, you know we've all had cases way more difficult than this. We'll solve it. That's what we do, right?"

"It's what we do..." She looked at Fin, her eyes bright with emotion. "Yeah, it is, but you're missing something: I usually have Bobby's brilliant insights and intuitive leaps of logic. Without him, I'm just a cop. I miss him, Fin. And I really, really need his help on this." She laughed, the sound watery. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Fin set down his mug and leaned forward. "You may be just a cop without him, but you're a damn good one." He laughed. "To tell you the truth, I'm pretty damn good myself. Between the two of us, we are going to solve this case. We'll prove Bobby innocent."

"And Ted," Alex added, releasing her self-hug and sitting down again. She picked up her cup and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, not missing the fleeting expression that crossed Fin's face. "Ted's okay, Fin, he just takes some getting used to." She smiled. "He reminds me of Bobby in that respect."

Fin stood and headed toward the kitchen. He returned shortly with the coffee carafe and refilled both their cups. "I'd say that's where the similarities end. He's no Bobby."

"Ted's smart, and he has a keen insight. He fancies himself a profiler, and he's good at it, but like you said, he's no Bobby. He lacks the ability to put himself in the killer's mind. No..." She paused in thought. "No, that's not exactly right. I don't think he lacks the ability, but the desire. He only goes so far, and then he pulls back. Bobby told him once that until he learned to stop pulling back, he'd never be able to profile effectively. Ted smiled politely and thanked Bobby for his advice, but I could tell it got under his skin. Of course, that might be because Bobby didn't wait until they were in private to say it to him. You know how Bobby is, he says what's he thinking. He doesn't always edit himself appropriately."

"He's honest to a fault," Fin defended, "but that's just who he is." He took a long sip of his coffee.

"So... are we going to take this to the captain?"

Fin looked at her over the rim of his cup. "I think we should."

"Even though we'd essentially be putting a bounty on Bobby's head? You know the minute they find out he's alive, they'll issue a warrant for his arrest."

"I know, and so does Bobby, but if we keep this to ourselves, we'd be risking our careers--"

Fire snapped in Alex's eyes. "You think I give a damn about my career if it means risking Bobby's life?"

"No more than I do," Fin assured her. "But I'm not going to risk getting pulled from this case and letting it get handed to the likes of Ted Waine or any of the other dozen cops in Major Case who've already decided Bobby's guilt. The most important thing to me right now is clearing his name."

Alex closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right, I know. I just..." She opened her eyes. "I just don't want to see him arrested."

Fin grinned widely. "You're assuming anybody will find him.

-:-


	10. Chapter 9

-:-

**Chapter 9: Breakthrough**

_noun_  
1: a sudden advance, especially in knowledge or technique  
2: a person's first notable success

-:-

Bobby stood at the bank of phones for an eternity, his head resting against the receiver, his eyes closed. It was the deepening concern in Bambi's voice that finally convinced him to rouse. He straightened and turned to face her.

"Lord, sugar, you about gimme a heart attack!" She patted a large hand against her larger chest." I been calling your name for five minutes. I thought maybe your ears done gone deaf or something. You okay?"

Bobby tried to smile to allay her fears, but it was just too much effort. He settled for a short nod. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you ain't fine. You look like you're gonna keel over any minute. Come on. I'm gonna get you back down to Donald's lair and off your feet."

Bobby did find a smile then, but it was so filled with sadness that it stopped Bambi in her tracks. "I can't go back."

"Wha'chu mean, you can't go back?"

"The friend I called, he's a cop. He's going to have to report my call. They're going to know I'm not dead now."

"Now wha'chu go and do a damn fool thing like that for?"

"He was the only one I could think of that wouldn't hang up on me who would have the information I need."

"About your partner."

"I had to know if she was all right."

"And is she?"

Bobby's smile was real this time. "He said she was."

"Was that worth risking getting arrested for?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes, it was. That's why I can't go back to Donald's, though. They're going to be looking for me now."

"All the more reason you got to go back. Where else you gonna go? Ain't nowhere safer than down in the tunnels, you know that. Cops don't never go down there unless they have to, and even then, they think twice."

"I can't take that risk. You and Donald... Doc... you've risked enough already. I won't put you in further danger."

"Honey, you think Donald cares about that? Hell, he ain't scared of nothing. And me. Shit, sugar. I quit caring what anybody thinks a long, long time ago. Hell, look at me." She took a step back from him and waved a large hand up and down her ample frame. She was clad in black jeans that were at least a size too small, knee high silver boots with heels so high she teetered drunkenly with every step and a pink fur trimmed, very tight and very low cut sweater. A black velvet, waist length cape completed the costume. "Now, do you really think this is the look of someone who gives a clown's crap what anyone thinks about her?"

Bobby gave her a serious look. "I think that is the look of someone whose heart is large and filled with goodness."

Bambi ducked her head, her blonde ringlets swinging forward to hide her face. "Hell... you done got a double helpin' of charm, ain'cha?" She lifted her head. "Come on, before you fall down. And I don't wanna hear no more 'bout it."

"Not yet," Bobby forestalled. "This is the first time in more than a week I've breathed anything but tunnel air. It's... it's kind of nice." He looked at Bambi. "I know the way back. I'm just going to walk around for a bit, maybe see if I can find a paper or something, then I'll head back. I'll be all right. Really." At her skeptical expression, he lifted his hand, three fingers held up. "I promise."

Bambi laughed. "Somehow, sugar, I doubt you was ever a boy scout. How long you figure you got until the cops track that call you just made?"

"My friend, he'll stall, I think. I'm okay 'til morning."

Bambi grabbed the sleeve of his coat, and turned him around. "Come on, then." She led him to a tiny diner squeezed in between a clock repair shop and a print shop. The faded sign over the door declared it to be "Rose's Diner." Bambi reached into her sweater, and from her large breasts pulled a small roll of bills. Peeling off the top few, she leaned forward and tucked them into Bobby's coat pocket. "Get in there and sit down before you fall down. Get yourself some coffee or soup or something."

Bobby reached for the money. "I can't--"

"Don't you dare insult my generosity!" Bambi looked truly offended at the aborted suggestion.

Bobby dropped his hand like it had been slapped. "Coffee does sound good. Thank you."

A gapped-tooth smile graced Bambi's round face. "Make sure you get some food in you, too. Something hot. 'Sides, you can always pay me back after you get your life back on track."

Bobby lifted her hand, touching it lightly to his lips. "You can rest assured that I will, Miss Rochelle." He turned and entered the diner, pausing to look around. It was nearly empty at the late hour, so he had his pick of booths. He chose one in the back, but with a clear view of both the door and the street beyond the window. He slid into the booth and took a moment to pull his splinted arm out of the coat pocket and settle it gently onto his lap.

"You actually got money?" a female voice asked. "Or you just in here for the heat?"

Bobby looked up into a pair of tired brown eyes. They were set into a face that looked like it had seen too far much life for its three dozen or so years. "The heat is nice, but yes, I do have money."

"Sorry, hon," she said, looking only slightly sincere. "In this neighborhood, I get a lot of 'I'm just waiting for someone' types that never order anything." She tucked a strand of dull brown hair behind her ear and pulled a small notepad out of her jeans pocket. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee and whatever you've got that's hot."

The woman lifted an eyebrow. "Whatever, huh?"

Bobby smiled. "Your hands look more than capable-" he glanced at her name tag, "-Lois, so I'm putting myself into them. Surprise me."

The woman's laugh lines deepened. "You may well regret that decision, but far be it from me to argue with a customer." She turned away, returning a few minutes later with a cup and a pot of coffee. Setting the cup on the table in front of Bobby, she filled it to the brim. "You want cream?"

Bobby ordinarily took his coffee black, but figuring he needed as many calories as he could pack into one small meal, he nodded. She set a couple of individual cream containers beside the cup.

After she'd gone again, Bobby busied himself lacing his coffee with as much cream and sugar as he thought he could stomach. He took a sip and winced at the heat, but relished the burn on the back of his raw throat.

Lois returned a few minutes later carrying a large bowl with steam lifting tantalizingly from it. As the scent reached Bobby's nose, his traitorous stomach let out a low, mournful roar of anticipation.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Lois laughed.

"As it was intended," Bobby assured her. "The stew smells wonderful, Lois."

She smiled and set down some flatware and napkins. "It was the freshest thing back there. Besides, I figure you can't go wrong with comfort food on a cold, November night."

"No, you can't." He leaned forward and cocked his head, looking up to catch her gaze. "You made a good choice, Lois. Thank you."

The color in her cheeks deepened as her smile grew. "You need anything else, you just give a yell."

Bobby picked up the spoon and dipped it into the stew. He ate tentatively at first, praying his stomach wouldn't rebel this time. Once he was certain it would stay down, he tucked in, emptying the bowl in record time.

He was just scraping the bottom of the bowl when Lois returned with a saucer of biscuits. "I think I'm a bit late."

Bobby chuckled sheepishly. "It was good."

"How about some more?" She reached for the bowl without waiting for an answer.

"That would be nice, thank you." Bobby sipped at the hot coffee until she returned with the bowl and the coffee pot.

He drained the second bowl of stew as quickly as the first, finished off the biscuits and even drained the second cup of coffee. His stomach had not been so full in over a week, and he dearly hoped it wouldn't prove to be a mistake. There was no denying, however, how much better he felt. He'd have to remember to thank Bambi once more for the money and the idea.

Lois cleared away the dishes and refilled his coffee cup. Bobby turned down her suggestion of a slice of pie, not wanting to push his luck with his fickle stomach.

He sipped the coffee and stared out the front window at the busy sidewalk. It was late, but this area of town was still lively. Bobby recognized, if not the people, their types. He'd seen more than his share of them when he'd worked in Narcotics. The faces changed, but little else. Hell, even some of the faces were the same, he realized as a man he recognized from years ago, stopped near the door of the diner to talk to another man.

Andre something; Bobby couldn't remember his last name after all these years. Small time thief and even smaller time drug dealer, and from the looks of the exchange of money Bobby could see, Andre was still in the same business.

Bobby looked away. It wasn't his problem tonight. He had troubles of his own. Troubles he had to solve if he wanted his life back. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, not an easy feat, given the persistent headache and ever-present fog in his brain. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to focus his thoughts and opened his eyes again.

Though the only information Bobby had was what he'd read in the paper, he did know that whoever had framed him had done a damn good job. According to the paper, it was an open and shut case. He'd attacked Alex and then killed himself. It was suspected that he'd had a mental breakdown. The reporter had made a point of mentioning how an unnamed source had told her that Bobby had been suffering depression for weeks prior to the attack.

Bobby frowned. That unnamed source had to be someone he worked with. Who else would have noticed a change in his mood? Bitterness rose in Bobby, but he quickly squashed it. It was only natural that someone would come forward to talk about him. Hell, they all clearly believed that he'd attacked his own partner. Their loyalty would naturally go to Alex, and he was honest enough admit that was the way it should be. She was the victim.

Of course the paper had mentioned his mother's own mental issues. Bobby scrubbed his good hand over his beard. It wasn't exactly a secret, though he hadn't really talked about it with too many people. Still, he hated the idea of everyone knowing his personal business. But he couldn't dwell on that, either.

What he needed was to remember what had happened Friday. If not the night, then earlier in the day. Maybe something had happened, something that might give him a clue as to who had attacked him. And Alex. He pushed away thoughts of his partner, not willing to be distracted into worrying over her. Fin had assured him that she was going to be all right, and he had no reason to believe it wasn't the truth.

Where had he and Alex gone Friday morning? Bobby stared into his coffee cup and tried to force the memories back. He remembered the case well enough -- the one the papers had dubbed the "Mr. Clean" killer, because of the way he made his victims wash. The women had scrubbed clean with harsh soaps. The hair was washed, the fingernails and toenails were scoured to perfection. The bodies were even dressed in brand new, though generic, clothing. Not one clue remained on the bodies or the crime scenes, making the investigation difficult.

Was the frame related to that case? Bobby pursed his lips in thought. He didn't really see a connection. They had no suspects, very few clues, and only the profile he'd worked up to go on. He'd easily determined that the perp was obsessed with hygiene. The depth of the cleaning had been overkill, leading Bobby to suspect mysophobia, bordering on full blown OCD. It was the only way to explain the obsessive attention to scrubbing the bodies. Unfortunately, that conclusion was too nonspecific to lead them to any viable suspects.

"Troubles, hon?"

Bobby looked up, startled from his thoughts. Lois was watching him with a blend of curiosity and concern. She slid into the booth opposite him. "You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders. A friendly ear help?"

Bobby picked up his newly filled mug -- when had that happened? -- and sipped it, pulling a face at the lack of sugar. "Not unless you have a cure for memory loss," he said jokingly.

"Amnesia?" Lois looked surprised. "Thought that only happened in the movies."

Bobby quickly shook his head. "No, nothing that exciting, I'm afraid. Just... well, just one night in particular, and part of the day before it."

Lois laughed. "Honey, it's nothing to lose a night now and again. Too much drink, too much partying..."

"I wasn't drinking." Bobby stirred sugar into his cup. "I know something very important happened in the missing time frame."

"Something you need to remember?"

"It's important."

Lois leaned back, clasping her hands on the table before her. "When I can't remember where I left my keys, I retrace my steps."

Bobby considered the suggestion, then shook his head. "I can't go back there."

"Maybe not physically. Just close your eyes and imagine yourself there." She stood and picked up the coffee pot. "Give it a try. What have you got to lose?"

With a mental shrug, Bobby took her advice, closing his eyes and clearing his mind. His thoughts were still foggy, but this time he didn't fight it. He simply waited, letting his subconscious choose a direction. It didn't take long. A picture of Alex filled his mind's eye. She was wearing a black pants suit with a soft green blouse. He recognized the outfit as the one she'd had on when he arrived at the station Friday morning. The mental image smiled at him, just as Alex had done that morning, and he found himself smiling back

He fast forwarded the mental tape. His memories of the early morning were clear enough. It was later, as the afternoon wore on, that gaping holes began to appear. Bobby slowed the tape as he approached the first memory hole.

He clearly remembered lunch -- a hastily swallowed sandwich at his desk. Alex had gone out, meeting her brother at a nearby deli. She'd invited him, of course, but he had declined because he wanted to look up something... What was it?

Bobby screwed his eyes shut tighter in an effort to remember. It was something he had written in his notebook. He could see it laying open before him, could see the writing on the pages, but he just could not, no matter how hard he tried, make out the words. He only knew it was something he'd felt an urgent need to research.

Trying a different tact, Bobby moved backward in his memory, trying to figure out when he'd made the notes in question. He and Alex had gone to the warehouse where the last of the prostitutes' bodies had been found. They had been canvassing the area, speaking to anyone they could find who might have seen or heard something, but both of them were growing frustrated with the lack of leads. He remembered Alex talking to a dock worker, a greasy man who'd looked at her in a way that made Bobby want to take his head off. Alex had handled the man well enough on her own, though. Bobby chuckled, remembering the look on the man's face when she'd very smoothly put him in his place. He couldn't remember her words, but he clearly remembered the man's reaction to them.

Bobby had been distracted, though, and had wandered off while Alex finished her questioning of the man. He frowned, trying to pin down the memory of what had lured him away. He'd seen something... a woman...

_"Bobby." _

A well-worn face coalesced in his mind's eye. Gray hair, pulled into an old, tatty wool hat. Men's rubber boots two sizes too big. A host of threadbare coats, layered one on top of the other over a small frame.

_"Bobby... copper-buttons..." _

Bobby's eyes snapped open. Dictionary Mary! No wonder her scattered, disjointed phrases had stirred something in his memory. He'd met her, talked to her before! The morning of the attack! He remembered it clearly now. He'd seen her picking her way carefully through the rocks along the shore of the river. She'd been carrying her two shopping bags, one, he knew now, holding her cat, Ganymede. He'd wandered over to talk to her while Alex finished up with the now subdued sleaze ball.

He remembered Mary's disjointed ramblings, and how he'd dutifully written her words in his notebook. He cocked his head, straining to hear the memory of her words.

_"Bobby." _

He'd been surprised she'd had known his name.

_"Copper buttons..."_

He could see the words on the page, flowing from the end of his pen as he wrote.

"..."

Something else... She'd said something else. Something he'd written down. But what?

"..."

Try as he might, he couldn't make himself hear the words, couldn't see them at the end of his pen. What had she said?

Was it important?

Bobby opened his eyes, surprised for a brief moment to find himself still sitting in the diner. Were Mary's words important? He thought about it, taking a sip of the now-cold coffee. He'd thought so on Friday. He remembered sitting at his desk in the Major Case squad room, contemplating them. Bobby and copper buttons. Had he made the connection? Had he figured out Mary's puzzle?

And what about the third thing she had said? What was it? He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to see the words on the paper as he wrote them, but they wouldn't come. He gave up with a sigh. What he needed was to talk to Mary, to see if she could tell him again what she had told him that day.

Bobby gently worked his splinted hand into his coat pocket and stood. He pulled the bills Bambi had given him out and glanced at them to make sure it was enough.

"You have any luck, hon?" Lois asked from behind the counter.

"Maybe. I think so." He crossed to the counter. "Do-do you know a woman called Dictionary Mary? An older woman... talks strangely."

Lois' forehead creased in thought. "I don't think so. No, can't say I do."

Bobby handed her the money. "Thank you, Lois. You've been a tremendous help."

-:-

Bobby wandered aimlessly until he felt he could walk no further. His limp had grown more pronounced, his still-healing feet aching with every step he took, and all he could think about was finding a warm spot and pulling off the borrowed shoes.

He'd spoken to probably three dozen people, and not one could tell him where to find Mary. Some knew her, some could even tell him where they'd last seen her, but no one seemed to even know where she lived.

He'd have to remember to ask Donald about that... and hope Donald was in the mood to actually make sense today.

Bobby almost glanced at his wrist before remembering he no longer wore a watch. He squinted around the street lights toward the sky at the tops of the buildings and guessed the hour to be close to dawn. With a bone weary sigh, he turned back the way he'd come. The crowd would switch soon, the nightly crew giving way to the set who actually held down legitimate jobs.

Bobby made his way back into the tunnels, stopping several times to make sure he wasn't being followed. Not that he expected to be, but he felt he owed it to Donald to exercise every caution. Donald was nowhere to be seen when Bobby entered his lair. He peeled off the coat, loath to part with its warmth. Though he'd eaten heartily at the diner, it had been hours ago, and his stomach was beginning to growl. He didn't feel right plundering through his host's limited stores, so instead, he collapsed on the pile of dirty rags he'd called home for the past week and pulled the coat over him for a blanket.

He laid there for too many minutes, trying to decide which was more important, just going to sleep, or removing his shoes to give his feet some relief. He finally opted on shoes first, sleep second. With a groan, he sat up and with no little effort, pulled them off. He wasn't at all surprised to find his thin socks soaked with blood.

"Ouch, you really did a number on those." Donald stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. "You want Doc to come see about 'em? I can send Spud..."

Bobby shook his head. "No point dragging him out of bed. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Right." Donald knelt on the concrete floor, bringing himself to eye level with Bobby. "Looks like it hurts like hell."

"Then it is as bad as it looks." Bobby pulled the wet socks off, gingerly working the cloth free in the places where it had stuck. "Could I have some-some water?"

"You do realize that water ain't exactly easy to come by down here? I ain't seen you lug none in."

Donald was in one of his moods, it seemed, but Bobby had years of practice in dealing with surprise mood shifts. Donald was an amateur compared to Frances Goren.

Making his voice as submissive as he could manage, Bobby apologized. "You're right, Donald, and I'm sorry. I haven't been pulling my share of the work load, but I just don't know all the ways to get water or food... or any of the supplies that we need. Maybe if you teach me... show me how to do it, I could start contributing." He pasted on his most remorseful smile.

Donald sat back on his heels and gave one short, quick nod. "That's a start. Gotta pull your weight if you want to stay here, you know. I can't do it all. Can't get up top at all, so that can be your job. You can do the up top stuff."

Bobby gave up on the water, but figured it likely wouldn't have been very clean anyhow, so he was really no worse off. Using the socks he'd just pulled off, he dabbed tentatively at the few deep cuts that were oozing blood.

"Is there any of the ointment here that Doc left?"

Donald tilted his head, appearing to think about it. "Maybe."

Bobby waited a minute, but it didn't look the other man was going to say anything else. "If you tell me where it might be, I can look for it."

With a put-upon sigh, Donald stood. "You're a lot of work, you know?" He kicked aside a dirty towel in one corner. Bobby recognized the tin can that was revealed as the one he'd seen Doc with before.

Donald picked it up and tossed it at Bobby. "There. Keep it."

Bobby's reflexes were slowed by exhaustion and pain. The can hit him square in the chest. He barely winced, though it had been thrown pretty hard. What was one more bruise at this point, he figured. He pulled off the tin-foil top and his senses were immediately assaulted by the distinctive scent of tea tree oil.

_...tea tree... _

Mary's voice... _tea tree, isopropyl, cadamer... _

That was the third thing Mary had told him! That's what was in his notes, what he'd been struggling all night to remember.

Tea tree oil... Bobby remembered now, Mary had given him the strange, seemingly disjointed list that Friday morning, the morning of the attack. He remembered writing it in his notebook. Something about it had touched a memory so vague he couldn't immediately place it, but he'd written it down, knowing it would come to him eventually. The puzzle pieces that Mary had given him -- the ingredient list, the words "bobby" and "copper buttons" -- hadn't connected for him, but he knew there was a link, and his seldom-wrong instincts warned him it was important.

Tea tree oil. Bobby sniffed the tin can; the odor was distinctive and strong. Tea tree oil was used for treatment of everything from dandruff to acne to minor wounds and rashes. It was a base ingredient in any of a number of over-the-counter medicines, ointments, shampoos, toothpastes, cosmetics... the list was long.

Bobby frowned. Something about the essential oil was ringing a bell in the far recesses of his mind, just as it had the morning Mary had spoken the words to him. But just like that morning, it was something too vague to immediately pin down. Had he pinned it down later? Had he made a connection between Mary's cryptic words? Put her convoluted puzzle together?

"You just gonna smell that all day, or you gonna put it on your feet?"

Bobby blinked owlishly at Donald. "What?"

Donald pointed to the tin can, which Bobby was still holding up to his nose. "Don't know why you'd want to smell it anyhow. That shit stinks like dead track-rabbits, if you ask me."

"The smell... reminded me of something."

"Yeah? Dead track-rabbits?" Donald laughed at his own joke.

"Track-rabbits? You mean rats?"

"Not just rats." Donald held his hands about two feet apart. "I'm talking RATS!" He dropped his hands to his lap. "Make good eating, though. Kind of stringy, but when you can't get anything else, it's filling. And there's plenty of 'em."

Donald seemed disappointed that Bobby didn't recoil from the notion of eating rats. "That don't bother you? Eating rats?"

Bobby scooped up some of the salve from the can and began slathering it on the bottoms of his feet. He shrugged at Donald's question. "I once ate _hachi no ko_ in Japan... bee larvae... and _casu marzu_ in Sardinia. Maggot cheese."

Donald scrunched his face. "Damn, man. You win. Guess a rat would seem tame after that."

"Well... in all honesty," Bobby leaned toward the other man and smiled conspiratorially, "I pulled the maggots out before I ate it. Don't tell my hosts, though; it'd have been seen as an insult."

"Shit, copper, even you have your limits, huh?"

Copper... _copper buttons_... Ah, hell. Bobby dropped the tin can of salve and slapped himself in the forehead. "Of course!"

Donald peered at him. "You all right?"

"Copper buttons! I don't know how I missed it. It's so obvious." At Donald's bemused expression, he elaborated. "The story goes that a hundred years or more ago, police uniforms were made with copper buttons. That's where the nickname 'copper' came from, later shortened to 'cop.' And-and 'bobby'... she wasn't saying my name. She meant 'bobby,' like the policemen in London. She was trying to tell me it was a cop!"

It made perfect sense, now that he gave it serious consideration. Who better than a cop to cover his tracks so thoroughly? Who better than a cop to know which evidence forensics would look for and how to avoid leaving it? But what about the tea tree oil and the rest of the list of ingredients Mary had given him? What did that have to do with the killer being a cop? Was it another clue to the identity of the murderer of those women? Bobby was sure he was missing something vital, some clue that Mary had been trying to tell him. "I have to find Mary."

"Dictionary Mary? Literary Mary. Not-so-ordinary Mary." Donald chuckled at the lame rhyme.

"Do you know where I could find her?"

Donald shrugged. "She's a river rat. She'll be down to the river later on."

"Do you know where she lives? Here in the tunnels?"

"Hell, no! She don't never come down here. Scares her."

Bobby frowned. "She was here the other day."

"She wanted to talk to you. Besides, she knew I would watch out for her."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Don't know. Don't care." His expression grew suspicious. "Why do you want to talk to her anyway?"

Bobby decided on honesty. "I think she knows something about a case I was working on. She... she might have been a witness."

Donald raised one eyebrow. "That's a weird fluke, don't you think? A witness in your case and a witness to your murder."

"Coincidence, yes... maybe."

"Or not?"

Bobby shook his head. "I won't know until I can talk to her. First, I have to find her."

-:-

_Halfway there. Still with me? _


	11. Chapter 10

-:-

**Chapter 10: Coincidence**

_noun_  
1: the occurrence of events that happen at the same time  
by accident but seem to have some connection  
2: the act of condition of coinciding

-:-

Alex arrived at the station early the next morning. She was operating on far too little sleep and far too much coffee, but adrenaline would keep her going for the time being. Too soon, she was afraid, even that would give out and she would crash, but until that happened, she fully intended to push herself to the limit.

Fin was on the phone at Bobby's desk when she walked into the squad room. She crossed to her own desk and pulled her coat off, draping it over the back of her chair.

The room was nearly empty. No one worked Sundays unless they were on a case that wouldn't keep over the weekend. Alex looked over the few men in the room, wondering if any of them were working the Mr. Clean case she and Bobby had been working before the attack. She hadn't thought to ask Deakins about it, but she should have. She should have taken the time to bring them up to speed. She shook her head. No point really in that, considering they didn't have much to go on. Bobby might have been able to give them insight, but then if Bobby had been there to share that with them it wouldn't have been necessary in the first place.

She sighed and sat down to wait for Fin to get off the phone. A few minutes later, he wrapped up his call and hung up, turning to her.

"Deakins and Waine should be here any time now."

"Are you sure about this?"

"No." Fin lowered his voice. "Not a lot I am sure of right now. But I don't really see a more viable option." He met Alex's gaze. "You okay with this? You having second thoughts?"

Alex shook her head. "No, you were right last night. We can't take the chance of being taken off the case." She shook her head again, more adamantly. "No, we tell Deakins, like we agreed. It's what Bobby would do. He'll understand."

Fin nodded and leaned back in Bobby's chair, clasping his hands over his stomach. "I been on the phone with everybody I can think of, trying to get the word out to Bobby to call me back. We're gonna need to talk to him and get his version of what went down."

"I thought you said he didn't remember anything."

"Not about the attack, no, but maybe he knows something else. Maybe something from earlier Friday."

Alex thought about it. "We need to ask him about the coffee. Where he went after he got it, if he set it down or left it unattended at any point before he got up here."

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I've got a couple of dozen questions, and I'm sure you've got at least that."

"We've got to hope he calls one of us back."

"Alex, you know why he didn't call you."

Alex nodded. She knew, not that the knowledge took the sting out of it. "He didn't know if I believed he was innocent or not."

"Hell, he didn't know if _he_ believed he was innocent or not. I'm not sure I convinced him, either. There wasn't enough time to get into the tape and lack of fingerprints on the cell phone, or even our suspicions about Ellis, for that matter."

"Like I said, we'll just have to hope he calls back."

They sat in contemplative silence until Captain Deakins entered the squad room a few minutes later. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a sweater.

Both Fin and Alex rose to meet him as he crossed the room.

"I'm going to assume this is worth pulling me in on my off day."

"You would be assuming correctly," Fin said. "I called Ted in, too. He should be here any--"

Waine entered the room before Fin finished speaking.

Deakins waited until the younger detective crossed to them, then gestured to his office. "Let's take it in there."

Alex waited until they were all in the room, the door closed behind them, then blurted it out. "Bobby's alive!"

It was a toss up as to who was most shocked at her words, the captain or Waine. Both stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown a horn out of her forehead. It was Deakins who spoke first.

"You want to explain that, Detective?"

"He's alive, Captain. He called Fin last night."

Deakins glanced at Fin. "Last night? And I'm just hearing about it now?"

Fin had the decency to drop his gaze to his hands. "He wouldn't tell me where he was, and I knew it would take time to track the call, so I didn't see any point in waking you up."

"You sure that was your only motivation?"

"What else would there be?"

Deakins rolled his eyes at the evasion, but didn't pursue the question.

"You did track it, though?" Waine asked.

"To a bank of pay phones near the Fish Park. Not much point in sending anybody down there. We all know Bobby's smart enough to be long gone by now."

"Which is why you should have called someone last night," Waine said, his voice rising. "We might have had a chance to apprehend him."

Alex shot the detective a glare, but Fin beat her to the verbal punch. "Technically, it was this morning, not last night, and technically, I handled it by the book. There is no warrant for his arrest, to the best of my knowledge."

"_Technically_," Waine answered, sarcasm dripping from his tone, "he was dead, as far as anybody knew. Now that we know he's alive, you know damn well we'll have a warrant within the hour."

"Detectives!" Deakins voice drowned out whatever reply Fin might have made. "As you _both_ damn well know, I'm still the captain and this is still my office, which means I am the only one who gets to yell in this room."

Waine scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry. The news just... caught me off guard." He dropped his hand and pasted on a smile, though Alex didn't think it quite reached his eyes. "But hey, Goren's alive. This is great news, right?"

"For those of us who don't want to slap the handcuffs on him, it is," Fin replied, a note of anger still in his tone.

"What if I don't press charges?" Alex said. "I'm the only one who was hurt. If I don't press charges against him--

"You know it's not that simple." Deakins frowned. "He'll be considered 'dangerously psychotic' and a threat to the general public." He moved around his desk and sat down. "Let's not borrow tomorrow's problems. Right now, I want the whole story. From the beginning."

Alex sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk. Fin sat next to her, not caring that it left no seat for Waine. He quickly related the short conversation he'd had with the missing detective.

"So he doesn't remember any more than Alex does?" Waine asked.

"Said he didn't." Fin clearly wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger.

"Then we don't know any more than we did before."

"We know he's alive," Alex put in. "I'd say that's huge."

"Of course," Waine said quickly. "I didn't mean anything. I just... well, it's disappointing not to have any more to go on than we already had."

"He's out there hurt," Deakins said. "We've got to find him, and bring him in--" He stopped, held up a hand to forestall Alex's protest, "-- for medical treatment."

Alex was shaking her head before he finished. "You know as well as I do, he'll be arrested. We don't have enough on Ellis to pin this on him, which leaves Bobby to take the fall."

"Then we're going to have to make finding evidence on Ellis our number two priority."

At Alex's raised eyebrow, he added. "Getting Goren medical help is number one."

-:-

"I need to see the crime scene photos."

Fin looked up at Alex, surprise in his expression. "I don't think that's a good idea--"

"No, probably not," she interrupted. "But I need to do it, nevertheless."

"I'm with Fin on this one, Alex," Waine said. "We've both seen them. It's not pretty, and it's not something you need to see."

Alex understood their reluctance to let her have access to what she knew would be difficult photos to view, but she also knew that there was simply no getting around it. There might be something in one of them that would spark a memory. It was a risk she'd have to take.

Fin had clearly been around her long enough now to recognize the stubborn set of her lips. He sighed and gave in. "I don't know how Bobby deals with you." A ghost of a smile belied his serious tone.

"He's learned to back off and let me have my way," she said, grabbing the file with the photos from the stack on Waine's desk and heading back to hers. Both men followed, taking up positions on either side of her chair. She recognized and appreciated the show of support. Bracing herself, she opened the folder.

The first photo was of the outside of the warehouse in which she'd been found. There was nothing really to set it apart from any of a thousand others in the city. It was clearly abandoned. Huge panels of the façade were broken loose and left to dangle dangerously. One door was off its hinges and hanging at an odd angle. Weeds, brown and dead in the midst of November, grew right up to the front wall.

Alex turned it over to the side and continued through the pile. When she reached the ones of herself, she didn't even slow down, preferring not to have to look too closely unless it became necessary.

The second half of the stack were photos of the same building, inside and out, but plainly taken the next day, after the sun had risen. She took her time with these, hoping against hope that something would jump out at her.

She came to one taken on the pier and stopped. The photo showed a clear handprint in blood on the gray weathered boards of the railing. Bobby's print, a sadistic part of her brain whispered, made only minutes, maybe seconds, before he was thrown or pushed into the water. She stared at the photo, her vision blurring. A burning in her chest reminded her to take a breath.

"You all right?"

Alex forced herself to set the photo down. "I'm fine."

She continued on through the photos. She was nearly to the bottom of the stack when something finally caught her eye. She leaned in closer, squinting to bring it into focus.

"See something?" Waine asked.

"I don't know, maybe," She stood and reached over to Bobby's desk in front of hers, taking his small magnifying glass out of the pencil cup there. Still standing, she bent over the photo, looking at it again through the glass. "Yes! There!" She pointed, handing the glass to Fin.

He leaned over and looked at the area she'd indicated. "I'm not sure I follow..."

He handed the glass to Waine, who took his turn trying to see what had Alex excited. "It's a woman... an old woman, looks like." He glanced up at Alex, a question in his eyes.

"We need to get it blown up." Without waiting for their replies, Alex grabbed the photo and flew from the room.

-:-

With a few mouse clicks, Leo Chang zeroed in on the woman in the photo. A couple of clicks more and he turned to Alex. "That's as clear as I can get it. The resolution is high, but she's just too far away from the camera for a perfectly clear shot of her face."

"That's better than I expected. Thanks." Alex leaned forward, peering closely at the face. Leo was right, it wasn't a great shot, but it was enough. "I know this woman." She straightened and turned to face Waine and Fin. "I've seen her before; the morning of the attack, in fact."

"Are you sure?" Waine asked. "It's not really very clear."

"I'm sure. Completely."

"Now that's a pretty big coincidence, don't you think?" Fin said.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Alex stated flatly. "Belinda Wilson's body was found just a block from the docks. That's one of Mr. Clean's victims. Bobby and I were down there questioning anyone we could find in hopes of turning up something, anything before another body turned up. We were grasping at straws, but we'd run out of leads. I was talking to this real sleaze of a scum ball, and Bobby wandered off. When I finished, I found him talking to this woman." She tapped photo on the computer screen. "He was taking notes on what she said in his notebook."

"Did you catch her name?" Waine asked.

Alex shook her head. "No, and I have no idea what she told him, either. If she gave her name, it would be in his notebook, along with what she said."

"Damn it!" Fin paced around the computer table. "We need that notebook."

Waine nodded. "Unfortunately, we don't have it." He looked at Alex. "He didn't say anything about what she might have told him? Anything at all?"

Alex shook her head again. "Not that I remember. A lot of the rest of the day is just a blur."

"We have to find this lady," Fin said. "Find out what she told Bobby."

"You're thinking the case we were working had something to do with the attack?" Alex asked.

"That's a stretch, don't you think?" Waine asked. "What about Ellis?"

"I don't know what to think," Fin admitted. "It could be this woman has nothing to do with anything, and what she told Bobby was little more than her recipe for sugar cookies. Once we find her and ask her, we can stop speculating."

Alex turned and headed for the door.

"Where you going?"

"To see Deakins about getting put back on active duty." She glanced at the two detectives over her shoulder. "There's no way in hell I'm sitting this one out."

-:-

Half a day into the search for the woman, they got their first break. Someone recognized her, and that same someone gave them a name. Mary. Dictionary Mary, to be more precise. The moniker was based, it seemed, on her proclivity to speak in jumbles of definitions and literary quotes.

Alex peered out the car window at every face they passed on the sidewalk and sighed to herself. It wasn't much to go on, but it was more than they'd had before. They had split up. Waine heading down to Penn, and she and Fin heading back toward the docks near the crime scene. Hopefully, one of them would find the mystery woman soon. Alex could only pray that they weren't on a wild goose chase and that Mary would be able to give them something concrete to proceed with. Alex didn't even want to think about how much time they would have wasted if it didn't pan out. Time was one thing Bobby might not have.

He was out there somewhere in the cold. Hurt. Maybe sick. Where was he? What was he doing for food? Shelter? She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. She had to get a grip on herself. Professionalism was what was needed now. She had to detach herself and treat this like any other case. It was what she'd promised Deakins in exchange for reinstatement to active duty, even though she wasn't "officially" even on the case.

"We're close, Alex," Fin said into the silence in the car. "Don't give up now."

Alex opened her eyes and turned them toward him. "Do you believe that? That we're close?"

"Hell, yeah. I feel it in my bones. That woman being at the crime scene after talking to Bobby? That ain't no coincidence. I'll stake my career on it."

"God, Fin, I hope you're right."

Fin pulled the car to the curb. "We find her, we'll find out."

Alex kept her doubts to herself and looked out the windshield. She recognized the area as the same place she and Bobby had been that Friday morning. Had it really been ten days? God! Ten days! She pushed aside the encroaching despair and climbed out of the car to follow Fin down the sidewalk toward the river.

Two hours later the sun was inching ever closer to the western horizon, and they were no closer to finding Mary than they had been when they'd started. They'd walked more than two miles, questioning everyone they'd met. A few had recognized the picture, validating what they already knew about her. One had even verified that Mary was a river rat, scrounging the shore for what she could find of value. Someone said they thought she lived in the tunnels, but wasn't sure.

Basically, they were stuck at square one.

Fin's phone rang. He stopped to answer it, but Alex kept walking, her focus on a man with a fishing rod further down the shoreline.

"Alex, wait up."

Alex stopped and turned to wait for Fin to catch up.

"That was Waine--"

"Nothing?" She read the answer on his face and sighed.

"No," Fin confirmed her fear. "He's calling it and heading back to the station." They resumed walking toward the fisherman. "He still feels Ellis is our best bet. He's going to work that angle."

"Maybe he's right."

"If you really felt that way, we wouldn't be out here schlepping through these stinky rocks looking for a crazy lady that talks in rhyme."

"Definitions."

"I stand corrected." Fin chuckled. "Like that's so much better."

Alex smiled and kept walking.

-:-


	12. Chapter 11

-:-

**Chapter 11: Desolation**

_noun_  
1. grief, sadness  
2. loneliness  
3. barren wasteland

-:-

There wasn't a lot of daylight left. Bobby squinted at the horizon, calculating his remaining time, and decided he was going to have to call it quits soon. It was a long walk back to the tunnels.

Assuming he went back.

He was still undecided. By now word would be out that he was still alive, and that meant they were actively searching for him. Bobby's fear now was that he would bring trouble down on the two people he owed his life to. Three if he counted Doc. Sooner or later, someone would track Bobby to Donald or Bambi, and they would be dragged downtown for questioning... at the very least. Bambi, he didn't worry about so much. She could handle herself just fine. But Donald... Donald wouldn't react well to being forced from the safety of his tunnel.

Bobby pulled his collar up as the wind whipped off of the river, swirling the garbage in the street. There were a good many people out, but then there nearly always was around this part of the riverfront. As darkness settled and the temperatures dropped, that would change. The night owls preferred the streets further in, away from the river.

He crossed the street and headed for a bait shop that was still open. A few men stood around the front door, smoking and talking. Bobby approached them and slowly worked his way into their conversation. It wasn't difficult. He looked and smelled the part of just another hard-luck story. When the conversation lulled, he asked about Mary and was met by one shake of the head after another. Trying not to feel too disappointed, he thanked them and turned away.

It would be dark soon. He was going to have to call it quits and make a decision on where to spend the night. He decided he'd give himself another half-hour of searching, and then use the long walk back toward Penn Station to decide if he was willing to risk going back to the tunnels. Maybe by then, he'd come up with an option for the night that included a warm place to sleep. Preferably one that smelled better and with no rats.

Guilt immediately assaulted him for the ungrateful thought. God only knew where he'd be now without Donald's lair to call home, temporary though it might be. He wouldn't disrespect the man's generosity by complaining about the accommodations. Not even in the privacy of his own thoughts.

Bobby rounded the side of the bait shop and stopped. Before him stretched the rock covered shoreline of the East River. Where the river twisted to the south, he could just make out the dark lines of the Rock Point pier.

_Icy blackness..._

He took a step forward, closer to the water.

_Bone crushing cold... _

He closed his eyes against the flashes of memory.

_Gravity ceased to work. He was falling up. And always there was the crushing pain. The bone deep cold. The burning of lungs that wanted nothing more than to suck in a breath of air that wasn't there. No, to breathe was to die, and God, he didn't want to die. _

_I didn't want to die._ Bobby's eyes flew open. God, no, he _hadn't_ wanted to die! He'd wanted to live! He remembered wanting to live. A smile twisted his face. He'd been desperate to live. Fighting for it. Struggling toward a light... a light that wasn't Death, but the shore.

Bobby took another step forward. This was the crime scene. It was where Alex had been attacked, where he'd been thrown into the water. He had to go there. His colleagues -- former colleagues, maybe -- were good; they wouldn't have missed anything. But he still wanted to see it for himself. Something might come back to him.

It'd been ten days; surely it was safe. The area looked deserted, except for a few fishermen further down the shore and a distant couple weaving their way erratically through the rocks toward him. It was risky, but he estimated the risk to be small if he exercised caution.

He ducked his head against the chilly wind and stepped off the boardwalk, heading toward the far distant pier. He'd only taken a few steps when he stopped. There was something oddly familiar about the couple approaching. They were still several hundred yards away and, given the falling dusk, their features were indiscernible, but there was something about the way they walked, their bearing, that ignited an odd mixture of both anticipation and... danger.

Bobby didn't question his instincts. He turned abruptly and headed back the way he'd come, ducking around the corner of the bait shop and plastering himself to the wall. His gut told him to leave, head back to the safety of the tunnels and Donald's lair, but another part of him, the part that had recognized the couple, even on a subconscious level, begged him stay. For long minutes, the two halves did battle with no clear winner.

Bobby risked a glance around the corner. The two were closer now, but had stopped to talk to one of the fishermen standing amongst the rocks. As he watched, the female drew something from her pocket and showed it to the man, who looked at it briefly and shook his head. Her shoulders slumped and she turned away, and Bobby got his first good look at her.

His heart froze mid-beat and his throat seized. He ducked back around the corner, his eyes squeezed shut. She was still a hundred yards or so away, but there was no doubt in his mind as to her identity.

_Alex. _

Bobby took a deep breath, and then another, willing his heart to beat again. Once it had obeyed, he opened his eyes.

Alex was here. Mere yards away. So close he could call her name and she would hear. The urge to do just that was so overwhelming that he had to physically grab hold of a loose board on the side of the building to keep from responding. He needed to hear from her own lips that what Fin had told him was true. That she didn't blame him, that she didn't believe he had hurt her.

But Alex was not solely his friend; she was also a cop. He couldn't force her to choose between him and her career. He couldn't put her in the position of having to arrest him.

Blinking away the sudden burning in his eyes, Bobby edged back to the corner of the structure and peered around it. The male had turned now, too, and Bobby easily recognized his old friend from Narcotics. Fin, he knew, was investigating the attack, which meant Alex must be working with him on the case. They were here, looking for someone... him? Was it his picture they were showing around?

Alex glanced toward the bait shop. Bobby slid back, but not completely out of sight, knowing it was highly unlikely she could see him from this distance, hidden as he was by the deepening shadows thrown by the waning sunlight.

Bobby narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the details of her face. It was pointless. They were too far away. Did she carry marks from the attack? Were there bruises? Probably not after so much time. Cuts, though, maybe. His vivid imagination painted a picture in his mind's eye of Alex, her face covered in purple and blue mottled bruises, blood smeared, dripping... Bobby swallowed hard, suppressing the cough the action elicited through sheer willpower. He pushed away the mental image. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to go to her and see for himself that she was all right.

At least she had Fin looking out for her. Bobby knew his old friend would take care of her, make sure she didn't overdo it. She should be resting. God, it'd only been ten days since the attack. What was Deakins thinking letting her work a case, much less _this_ case? What happened to the rules?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Bobby almost laughed aloud. He knew Alex well enough to know that Deakins hadn't stood a chance if she had made up her mind to join the investigation, which she obviously had. If she wasn't working it in an official capacity, then she wouldn't hesitate to worm her way into it unofficially. And Bobby knew Fin well enough to know he wouldn't have fought her intrusion. No, he would welcome her input.

Bobby whispered a brief prayer of thanks that he had two friends who cared enough about him to go to such lengths. He knew his best chance at being proven innocent lay with the two people he was watching walk toward him.

Panic flared in Bobby's chest. While he'd been lost in introspection, the two detectives had begun walking toward Bobby's hiding place, and they had closed more than half the distance between them. He was trapped. He couldn't risk moving. Dressed as he was in dark clothing, his face hidden behind his dark beard, he was nearly invisible in the shadows, but if he moved, they would see him.

He held his breath and prayed they would adjust their course, veer off to the far side of the building, but they continued on, straight at him, now only a hundred feet away. Had they seen him? Did they know he was hiding there? No, they couldn't. Bobby knew his vision was sharper than most people's, so even if they had looked right at him, they probably couldn't have distinguished him from the darkness surrounding him.

A couple more minutes, and they'd be on him. He would be arrested, carted off to jail like the felons he'd spent the vast majority of his adult life pursuing. Bobby was still debating his options when the sound of a cell phone ringing reached his ears. Both detectives stopped, while Fin pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. Bobby watched as his dark face grew grimmer. After a few seconds, he snapped the phone shut and said something to Alex, who's own expression darkened. The two turned and hurried back the way they'd come.

Bobby stepped from his hiding place, his eyes on the retreating figures and his heart squeezing tighter with every step they took. Desperation swept over him, and it took every ounce of restraint he could muster not to follow them or hail them or something. Anything to stop them from leaving him here... alone. Desperately, utterly alone.

He stared after them until they were nothing but far-away specs in the distance. Until the blurring of his vision completely obscured them from sight. Until the sun slipped below the horizon, and an icy fog settled over the water and seeped into his bones.

Then, he turned and walked away, his search abandoned.

-:-


	13. Chapter 12

-:-

**Chapter 12: Roadblock**

_noun_  
1: an obstruction in a road  
2: something that blocks progress or prevents accomplishment of an objective

-:-

"The body was found behind a dumpster, only about a mile from the pier."

Alex didn't acknowledge Ted's statement. She didn't take her eyes from the body lying on the Medical Examiner's table. A tiny slip of a woman, covered to the shoulders with a thin sheet. Frail, elderly... lifeless.

Dictionary Mary.

To be more accurate, Mary Hawkins Quimby. Retired school teacher, seventy-eight years old. The elderly woman's Social Security checks had stopped being cashed more than ten years previous, about the same time she'd dropped off the government's radar. With no family or close friends to report her missing, she'd simply fallen through the cracks.

In the end, it had been surprisingly easy to identify the woman. In her coat pocket there had been a worn, well read copy of Shakespeare's _Othello_, and on the inside cover had been a short inscription addressed to "Miss Mary Quimby, teacher, role model, friend." It was signed with a girl's name and dated "1959." Once they'd had her name, it had been a simple matter, really, to track her to a small private high school in Queens.

The only question in Alex's mind -- well, other than why someone with a guaranteed, comfortable income had chosen to take up a life on the streets -- was: Who had killed her?

"That the cause of death?" Fin pointed to a large patch of blood dried to the side of the woman's head.

"You would think so." Dr. Elizabeth Rogers stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed over her blue scrubs. "But you would be wrong. It was cardiac arrest. My guess is she hit her head when she fell."

"So it was natural causes." Ted shoved his hands into his pockets, shaking his head sadly. "What are the odds? She lives a nice long life, only to die now, just as we start looking for her."

"A mighty big coincidence, don't you think?" Alex finally broke her silence. "We identify her as a possible witness and within hours she turns up dead?"

"She was an old lady," Ted pointed out needlessly. "Old people have heart attacks."

"It wouldn't be the first 'murder by heart attack' we've seen," Alex said.

"Alex..." Fin started.

She rounded on him. "You told me just a few days ago that you don't believe in coincidence. Did that change?"

Fin turned to Rogers. "You find anything else? Any signs of struggle, fibers..."

"She lived on the streets," the ME replied. "There were literally hundreds of fibers." She shook her head. "Nothing that stood out, though, unless you count cat hair--"

"There was a cat found with the body," Ted supplied. "It was turned over to animal control, but there was nothing on it. No collar or tag."

Rogers spared the man a glance, then continued. "There were no bruises or scrapes, nothing under the fingernails that would suggest a struggle."

"She could have been frightened into a heart attack," Alex maintained adamantly. "She wouldn't have been in a position to protect herself. If she felt threatened... if she saw something or someone that scared her..."

"Alex, come on," Ted said, placing a hand on her arm. "I know how you must feel, but you're stretching and you know it. She was old. She had a heart attack. Sometimes it really is that simple."

Alex pulled away and left the room. She didn't stop until she reached her desk, dropping leadenly into the chair and burying her face in her hands.

"I take it Rogers gave you bad news."

Alex looked up to find Deakins standing over her, his expression showing both disappointment and sympathy.

"Natural causes," Fin said, approaching with Ted on his heels. "Heart attack."

"Did she have a previous heart condition?" Deakins questioned.

Alex let out a loud huff of breath. "Thank you! At least someone else is willing to consider that it might not have been natural."

"Only it was," Ted said. "Rogers said there was evidence of at least one prior attack a few years ago."

"So she had a weak heart," Alex said, standing. "It wouldn't have taken much of a scare to send her into cardiac arrest, then, right?"

No one said anything. Alex sat back down. "Either way, we're looking at a lot of piling up bodies here. Mary, the four prostitutes and almost Bobby."

"None of which seem to be connected," Ted said.

"We don't know that," Fin put in.

Ted threw his hands wide in a gesture of frustration. "I don't see anything that connects any of them. I still say our best bet is Ellis. What happened to that line of investigation?"

"I'm just trying to keep an open mind," Fin answered. "Like any good cop." He looked pointedly at Ted.

"You got something to say about the way I'm handling this case, Fin?" Ted threw back at him.

Deakins held up his hands. "Not out here, folks. Let's take this in my office."

The three detectives followed the captain into his office. Alex and Fin took chairs in front of his desk. Ted elected to stand. Deakins shut the door and moved around his desk, but didn't sit.

"Someone want to tell me what's really going on here?"

No one spoke for a minute. Finally, Ted scrubbed a hand over his face. "I think we're all just frustrated, Captain. We thought we had something with this woman. It's only natural we're discouraged that she died before we could question her."

Deakins looked to Fin for verification. "That all it is, Detective Tutuola?"

Fin cut his eyes to Ted before answering. "Like Waine said, Captain, we're frustrated."

Deakins looked at Alex.

She considered agreeing with the other two detectives, just to smooth over any ruffled feelings. God knew they had better things to be doing than to be sitting here discussing attitudes. She felt like she was in the principles office in high school. But she was too tired and too annoyed to parse her words. "It just seems..." She hesitated, but for only a brief moment, then plowed ahead. "It seems like Ted is shooting down every idea we come up with."

"What?!" Ted exploded. "What ideas have I shot down? _Logical_ ideas that is?" Alex held her temper in check. "Everything, Ted. Every last idea, clue, or lead we've come up with you've argued against or tried to explain away."

"I'm trying to be objective, something that you and Fin," he pointed his finger at them both, "are not!"

Deakins folded his arms over his chest, but didn't interrupt.

Alex jumped to her feet. "That's because Fin and I went into this investigation without having already convicted Bobby."

Ted dropped his hand and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was calmer. "I'll admit that I was wrong about Detective Goren. You have to admit, though, the evidence against him was damning from the start."

"A good detective knows when to look beyond the obvious," Fin said quietly.

Ted shot him a look, his expression darkening. "That's twice now you've insinuated I'm not a good detective."

Fin clasped his hands and rested them on his stomach. "A better word might be 'inexperienced'."

Ted's face turned a dark shade of purple, but before he could do much more than sputter in response, Deakins interrupted.

"Okay, I think all our dirty laundry is out in the open." He sat down. "I take it there's a difference of opinion on how to proceed with this investigation."

Ted opened his mouth to reply, but Deakins spoke first.

"That wasn't a question, Detective Waine."

Ted turned away quickly, pacing across the room.

Deakins continued, speaking to the man's back. "I told you from the start, Ted, that Detective Tutuola was taking lead. If there's a problem, I have no choice but to reassign you--"

Ted spun back to face him. "What? You can't do that!"

Deakins raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I thought that one of the perks of the promotion was the freedom to make decisions like that."

Ted took a few seconds to visibly calm himself before speaking again. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm operating on too little sleep and too much coffee, I think. I'm not usually this argumentative. You know that, sir."

"Which is why I'm cutting you some slack."

"Thank you, sir." Ted took a deep breath. "If you feel it best to take me off the case, I understand."

Deakins studied him hard for a moment. "At this point, I think you might be of more use to Segala and Hensley on the Mr. Clean case. I'm going to let Tutuola and Eames finish this one out."

Ted stared back silently. Alex could almost see the wheels in his brain turning. Finally, he nodded and turned to Fin. "No hard feelings, huh? I learned a lot from you."

Fin gave a short, quick nod. "No hard feelings."

Once Ted had left the office, Alex felt herself relax. She hadn't even been aware of the tension until it fled, leaving a deep, bone weary exhaustion in its wake.

"You two okay with this?" Deakins asked.

Fin nodded.

"Ted's a good man," Alex said. "He was just taking this case personal. I think he might see too much of himself in Bobby, and it scared him to think Bobby might have been guilty."

"Too much of himself?" Deakins questioned.

"Ted fancies himself a profiler."

"He's no Goren," Deakins said. "And as good as he might one day be, I doubt he could ever fill those size thirteens." He looked up at Alex. "You do remember that 'officially' you are _not_ working this case?" At her nod, he sat back in his chair. "Just as long as we're still clear. If Ted makes any waves about your involvement, I'll have no choice but to pull you back and put you on something else. If I have to put my career on the line to get Goren home safely I will, but I'm not quite willing to do that until and unless it becomes necessary."

"I understand, sir, and I hope you know how much I appreciate the latitude you've allowed us and the risk you're taking. I'm doing my best to stay off the radar on this."

Deakins nodded, and then turned to Fin. "So, where are we at on this thing?"

Fin answered. "Our potential witness is dead."

"Which I think is a mighty big coincidence," Alex added.

"Even if Rogers says it's natural causes?" Deakins raised an eyebrow.

"Even if."

"Far be it from me to question your instincts."

"It does seem to be a long string of coincidences connected to this lady," Fin said. "Bobby questioned her the morning of the attack, she shows up in a crime scene photo, we start looking for her, spreading the word we wanted to talk to her, and now she's dead."

"I see what you mean."

Alex leaned forward. "These two cases have to be connected."

"With Mary the link," Fin said.

"We need Bobby's notebook," Alex said. "It's the only way now to find out what she said to him."

"You have another potential witness," Deakins pointed out. "One other person can tell you exactly what she said to Goren."

"Bobby," Fin said.

"We've got to find him." It wasn't like they hadn't come to the conclusion before. "We have no idea where to even begin looking."

"If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be," Fin said.

"Double check with his known friends," Deakins told them. "Maybe he's been in touch since you talked to them last. Make sure they know how important it is to let us know if they talk to him."

Alex sighed. "I'll check, but Bobby won't call them. He wouldn't put them at risk by contacting them."

"He was reluctant enough to call me," Fin said. "And he made a point of telling me to report it."

"What about the uniforms canvassing the area near the phone he called from?"

"All we've got are his prints on the phone to even show he was there," Alex said. "No one in the area recognized him, but that doesn't surprise me. He wouldn't have been careless enough to call from anywhere near where he's hiding."

"So we're stymied," Deakins concluded. He sat forward. "Keep looking for the notebook, and don't give up on his friends. If he gets desperate enough, he'll contact someone."

-:-


	14. Chapter 13

-:-

**Chapter 13: Cadywhompus**

_adjective_  
1: askew  
2: out of kilter  
3: inclined or twisted to one side

-:-

A squad car cruised slowly past, and Bobby lowered his head, burying his chin in his chest. He kept walking, trying to maintain an air of purpose. The car passed him, close enough he could hear the squeak of the wipers as they fought to clear the freezing drizzle from the windshield.

As he approached the corner, Bobby risked a glance back and could no longer see the car. He released the breath he'd been holding. Never had he expected to be in such a position, running, hiding from this own colleagues. It was a risk to return to the area, Bobby knew, but he didn't know where else to go. He needed something that he couldn't get from Donald or Bambi, and he knew only one other person who might be in a position to provide it.

Bobby's limping pace slowed even more. He desperately wished he could talk to Alex. He wanted, _needed_ to hear her voice and know she really was all right. To know she believed he was innocent. A large part of him regretted he hadn't made his presence known last night on the shore. If he'd just stepped out of the shadows...

He would be in jail right now.

He pulled the collar of his coat higher, vainly trying to halt the drip of freezing rain from his shaggy hair down his neck and into his clothes. He was soaked to the bone from his long walk, and his limp was growing more pronounced with every step. At least in jail he'd be warm and dry.

And fed.

And clean.

Bobby sighed and pushed himself to a quicker pace, consciously trying to control his limp. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. It was foolish enough to even be in the area.

Another block and Bobby passed the bank of phones from which he'd called Fin -- how many nights ago? He'd lost all track of time. He forced himself not to slow. A few more steps, and he reached the door of the diner. He pulled it open and slipped inside.

Warmth washed over him, and he gratefully unbuttoned his wet coat so the warm air could more quickly penetrate the layers. A swift glance around found Lois serving an older man at a table by the back window. Bobby sat down at the counter and waited.

A few minutes later, she stepped around the counter and stopped in front of him. "Well, if it isn't tall, dark and scruffy."

Bobby smiled. "Hello, Lois."

She grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. "You look like a drowned rat."

"A drowned, freezing rat." He wrapped his cold hand around the mug. It felt good, and he smiled at her appreciatively.

"How 'bout something hot to eat? Want me to surprise you again?"

Bobby shook his head. His stomach growled in memory of the stew she'd fed him last time, but he was thinking ruefully of the lone dollar bill and handful of change in his pocket, another loan, this time from Donald. He was starting to feel like a street corner beggar. "No, thank you. Just... just the coffee... and company, if you have the time."

Lois smiled and set the coffee pot down. "Hon, for you, I'll make the time." She rested her elbows on the counter.

Bobby sipped at the hot liquid, closing his eyes in a moment of pure bliss. He didn't know which he enjoyed more, the comforting aroma wafting up with the steam or the hot, robust flavor sliding across his taste buds to tumble joyously down his throat.

"You must have met some mighty hard luck if you think my coffee's that good."

Bobby opened his eyes. "Hard luck. Now there's an understatement."

Lois stared hard at him for a moment, and then leaned forward, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "Some folks been looking for you."

He looked up. "Cops?"

"You in some kind of trouble?" A ghost of a smile touched her lips. " Are you dangerous?"

"I'm not dangerous," Bobby said. "But I am in trouble."

"Does it have something to do with your memory problems the other day?"

"Only everything." Bobby sipped at the coffee.

"They showed me a picture, asked me if I've seen you around. I told 'em no." She smiled. "Gotta say, though, cleaned up, shaved, you're a good looking man."

Bobby felt heat rising in his face and was thankful for the beard which masked it.

"I don't suppose you want to talk about it?"

He set down the cup, though he kept his hand wrapped around it, loath to part with the warmth. "I would like nothing more than to tell someone, but... I-I can't put you at risk."

"Hon, I already lied to the cops for you. I'm not already at risk?"

Bobby chewed his bottom lip, stalling while he debated with himself the wisdom of telling Lois his story. Actually, there was no debate, because there was no wisdom. He barely knew her. She was just someone who'd treated him decent. Instinct told him he could trust her, but he wasn't entirely sure he could trust his instincts anymore.

His life... everything in it was catywhompus . Truth be told, he could use a friend right now. Besides, if he was going to ask a favor of her, he felt he had to give her something in return.

"Bobby..." he said. "My name is Bobby."

Lois smiled. "Detective Robert Goren, actually."

Bobby's eyes widened. "You know who I am."

"They did show me your picture, hon. Now, granted, it didn't have your name splashed across it, but I recognized it from the papers couple weeks ago."

"Then you already know..."

"About what they say you did to your partner?" Lois shrugged. "Who believes what they read in the papers anymore? Besides, my mama taught me there's two sides to every story. Three, if you count the paper's version. I'd like to hear your side of it. If you're of a mind to share, that is. If not," she shrugged again, "that's okay, too."

Bobby drained half his cup of coffee, relishing the sear all the way to his belly. He set the cup down, and told Lois his story, beginning with that long-ago Friday morning and ending with him sitting on the stool at the counter of a diner in a part of town he'd only ever visited in passing, spilling his guts to a woman he barely knew.

He tried not to color the tale with too much of his perspective, tried to remain as objective in his telling as he could manage. Not an easy feat when he was feeling so much despair, so much persecution. Hell, he was feeling sorry for himself. He could admit it, even if he did loathe the useless emotion.

Lois listened with no interruptions and no expression, her whole focus on his words until he reached the end and wound to a slow stop. Even after he stopped talking, she continued to hold his gaze. Bobby forced himself not to lower his eyes. She was judging the worth of his words -- the worth of _him_ -- and he owed it to her to allow the assessment.

Finally, she sucked in a noisy breath and straightened. "Well."

Bobby raised an eyebrow and waited. She'd either ask him to leave and then pick up the phone to call the cops, or she'd ask him not to move and pick up the phone to call the cops. Either scenario ended with her calling the cops.

He should just leave now, and save her the trouble of having to decide. But a part of him wondered if maybe it was time to throw in the towel. He was tired of hiding. Tired of being sick and in pain. And he was tired of being alone. He needed help and he needed his friends. Even if he would have to see them from behind bars.

"You sure you don't want something hot to eat?"

Bobby just stared, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Lois picked up the coffee pot and started to refill his cup. He raised a hand, stopping her.

She poured anyhow. "You're soaked to the bone, and it's clear you're not exactly in prime health. You need something warm in you." She smiled at him. "Refills are free."

Bobby blinked at her. "T-t-thank you," he stammered.

"And a nice hot bowl of chili." She disappeared through a swinging door behind the counter, but stuck her head right back through. "You do like chili, right?" She didn't wait for his answer, but disappeared again. Just minutes later, she reappeared, a steaming bowl in one hand, a saucer with a large slice of cornbread in the other.

"Lois... I can't..." Bobby was embarrassed. He probably had less than three dollars total in his pocket. Enough to pay for the coffee and leave a small tip, and that was it. "I don't have enough money." The admission cost him the last bit of his pride.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't recall asking for any. Now shut up and eat something. If your stomach growls any louder the other customers..." She glanced at the lone customer at the back booth. "... _customer_... will start complaining."

Bobby frowned and looked down at the food. His stomach really was getting pretty vocal, and the aroma rising to his nose wasn't helping matters any at all.

Lois leaned across the counter and waited until he looked up, meeting her very serious gaze. "Bobby, I've been hungry. It's not pretty, and it's not fun. What you really need is medical help. Don't think I didn't notice that cough, the way you're limping or the fact that you haven't taken your left hand out of your pocket since the first time you came in here, and it's pretty obvious that you're not right-handed. Look, hon, it's not charity when friends help one another out. It's friendship."

Bobby bit the inside of his cheek, and blinked hard. He was a private person. He wasn't used to wearing his emotions so close to the surface. Blaming it on a combination of pain, cold and a bone-weary exhaustion, he simply nodded and tucked in to the food.

Lois disappeared to tend to her other customer... her paying customer, Bobby reminded himself, swallowing a bite of the hot chili along with an acrid helping of humiliation.

By the time she returned, he was scrapping the bottom of the bowl, but when she tried to refill it, he put his foot down. She stared to argue, but one look at his face, and she backed down, settling for refilling his coffee cup.

His stomach satisfied and happy, even if his sensibilities were somewhat wounded, Bobby cleared his throat, drawing the woman's attention. "Lois..." He hesitated. How could he ask for a favor after what she'd just done? Still, there was no one else.

"What is it, hon?"

"Do you have a library card?"

The woman blinked wide-eyed at him. "A... library card?"

"I-I need information from the internet, and I need a card to use the library computers. I... don't have mine."

Lois laughed. "Of all the things to ask a person. A library card! Bobby, you're priceless!" She glanced at the customer in the back booth. The old man was pulling on his coat. "Hold on a sec." She quickly checked the man out. Once he'd disappeared out the door, she crooked her finger at Bobby and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. "Come on."

Bobby hesitated only a minute, then followed.

An older, Hispanic man looked up from where he was perched on a stool, reading a dog-eared magazine.

"Gus, can you keep an eye on the front for a minute?" Lois asked.

The man gave Bobby the once over, then nodded and wordlessly headed out the door they'd just come through.

"Gus is my cook," she explained.

"Your... cook?" Realization dawned. "You're Rose?"

"More or less." Lois smiled. "I came to this town twenty years ago, a foolishly brave eighteen year old with less than a hundred bucks in her pocket and a big dream about living in the big city. Long story short, I got a job waitressing here, and when Rose was ready to sell a few years ago, I took out a loan and bought it. The neighborhood is seedy, and business ain't always great, but I clear enough to live decent, and I'm content. The American dream, right?"

She stopped in front of a small, cluttered desk shoved into a corner, away from the prep area of the room. On the desk was an older model computer.

Bobby's eyes lit up. "If you tell me you have internet, I may have to propose."

Lois laughed. "You might want to save that proposal until you've seen how ancient this old clunker is... plus it's still using a dial-up internet connection." She pulled out the straight back chair. "Have a seat, surf to your heart's content." She eyed Bobby as he sat down. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? Like hack into the police computers or something?"

"Just a simple Google search, I promise." He hit the space bar on the keyboard, instantly banishing the bouncing-ball screensaver. With a little searching, he found the shortcut key on the desktop that connected to the internet and double-clicked it.

"Looks like you know where everything is. I'm gonna leave you to it. Holler if you need anything."

Bobby scarcely heard her leave. As soon as the internet was connected, he brought up the search engine, and one-handedly typed in his search parameters... _tea tree oil, isopropyl, cadamer..._

The slow connection took a few minutes to return the results. Bobby waited patiently, then scanned the list as it came up. Nothing immediately jumped out at him. Most of the results were listings of homeopathic websites offering balms and salves for various maladies.

Had he made this same search that fateful morning? Nothing on the list looked familiar. Of course, he didn't really know what he was looking for. He clicked to go to the next page of results and waited for the slow machine to bring it up. It took two more clicks, bringing him to the fourth page of results before something caught his attention. He clicked on the link and was taken to a web site with a recipe for homemade hand sanitizer.

Hand sanitizer... Why was that familiar? Why did that stick out of the four pages of results he'd scrolled through already?

He scanned the list of ingredients for the sanitizer, his mind struggling to find the connection. On a whim, he backtracked to the search engine and typed in a new search. After several minutes and a few more clicks of the mouse, he managed to find the ingredients list for some of the more popular brands of waterless hand sanitizer. Only one contained tea tree oil: Natural Essence Hand Sanz.

Bobby frowned. He was missing something, something vital and something that should be obvious. Why was he missing it?

He grabbed a pen from a jar beside the monitor and rummaged for a scrap of paper. A scratch pad materialized under an open ledger. Bobby pulled off the top piece of paper and with some trouble, managed to scribble the name of the sanitizer right-handed. It was legible, but barely. After shoving the paper into his pocket, Bobby took a few minutes to delete his searches from the computer's history. It wouldn't fool more than the most casual searcher, but chances of someone tracing him to this computer were slim enough that he felt secure with the small measure.

Lois looked up when he came through the door. "Find what you wanted?"

"I think so... yes." He pulled the crumpled dollar bill and handful of change from his pocket and set it on the counter.

"I told you it was on the house."

"Then consider it a tip." Bobby smiled, hoping he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt. He grabbed back two quarters. "I just need to keep enough for a phone call."

"You can use my phone--" Lois started.

Bobby shook his head. "It'll be traced. I've put you at enough risk." He met her gaze, hoping she could read the sincerity in his expression. "Thank you, Lois."

She frowned. "You're not coming back, are you?"

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"Turning yourself in?"

Bobby took a deep breath. "That's not the plan, but... well, it might be the end result."

Lois pursed her lips and nodded. "We do what we have to do, I guess. Are you sure about this?"

Sure? Bobby almost laughed. All he was sure about was that he was sick, in pain and tired of running... and he missed Alex. There seemed only one solution to solve all of those problems. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Good luck, Bobby." Lois stuck out her hand.

Bobby took it in his right hand and gave it a squeeze. "You've been a tremendous help. I won't forget it."

"See that you don't. You get this all straightened out, I'm gonna expect you to bring that partner of yours by for a hot meal. And to make it fair, I'll be expecting a hell of a tip."

"It's a deal."

Bobby turned and left. He stopped outside the door, under the awning. The freezing drizzle had turned to a light snow. The wet flakes danced on the late afternoon breeze, hitting his face and sticking in his beard. He ducked his head, pulled his collar up and headed for the nearby bank of pay phones, praying he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his mistake-ridden life.

-:-


	15. Chapter 14

**-:-**

**Chapter 14: Together**

_adverb_  
1 : with each other, as a unit  
2 : considered as a whole  
3 : counted or summed up

-:-

Alex grabbed her desk phone on the first ring. "Eames."

"Alex, hey... it's Lewis again."

"Lewis." She lifted her eyes to Fin seated at Bobby's desk across from her. He smiled, and she picked up her stapler and made like she was going to throw it at him. His smile grew. "What can I do for you?" As if she didn't know.

"I'm just checking... you know, hoping maybe you've heard something."

Alex counted to ten before answering, all the while reminding herself that Lewis was Bobby's friend, too, and unlike her, he only knew what he read in the papers, which was little to nothing now that they had moved on to more current stories.

"Alex?"

"Sorry, Lewis, I'm a little busy. We still haven't heard anything. I promise you, I'll call you personally if anything changes." Same promise she'd made the past half-dozen times he'd called, and just like before, it wouldn't matter. He'd still call back, probably before the day was over.

"Okay... yeah... thanks, Alex. Look," he hesitated, "um, I'm sorry to keep bothering you. I'm just worried about him."

Alex's irritation fled in the face of his open anxiety. "I know. We all are."

"This is not like him. He'd call if he could, I know he would. If not me, then you. I can't help thinking he might be hurt... or worse."

"Lewis, stop. You're not doing yourself any good by imagining the worst. You know as well as I do why he hasn't called us. He wouldn't put us in the position of having to report it."

"He knows I wouldn't do that. I doubt you would either."

"I'd have no choice." Alex spoke the words because they were what she should say, but her heart was arguing with her the whole time. There was no way in hell she would put Bobby in further danger by turning him in. Whoever had framed him was still out there somewhere, and whoever it was had already proven himself or herself more than capable of gaining access to the inside of the precinct. In jail he'd be a sitting duck. Even hurt and possibly sick, he was probably safer where he was. Wherever that was.

"Lewis, you have to trust us, Fin and me, we're doing everything in our power to make it safe for Bobby to come home."

Lewis sighed, sounding just as weary and scared as Alex felt. "I know. Thanks, Alex... and sorry about being a pest. I... well, just thanks."

He hung up before she could respond.

She set the receiver back on it's cradle.

"He's just worried," she said, finding Fin still watching her, though his smile had faded.

"He can join the club."

Alex glanced at the clock on the wall. "I think I'm going to call it a day. We're not doing anything but beating the same bushes here, anyway." She stood and reached for her coat.

"Go ahead." Fin reached for another in his dwindling stack of files. "I'm going to finish up here, then head that way myself."

"We've gone through those a hundred times already." Alex gestured to the old case files.

"This makes a hundred and one."

"Really think we've missed something?"

"No." He closed the file and tossed it to the side. "But I unless you've got a better idea...?"

Alex hesitated, a mistake, she realized. Fin was sharp. Almost as sharp as Bobby.

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "You ain't heading home, are you?" His voice took on a warning note." Alex..."

She didn't even try to deny it. "You really think I can go home to a nice cup of tea and a hot meal in my warm, dry apartment? Have you even noticed it's snowing, Fin? And Bobby's out there... somewhere... and he's hurt..."

Fin stood and grabbed his jacket. "Come on."

"I'm not going home."

"I don't recall asking you to. So we cruise the streets looking for him. What's one more night with no sleep?"

Alex smiled. She opened her mouth, but before she could thank him, her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. No name. The number was local, but unfamiliar. She flipped it open. "Eames."

Her greeting was met with silence. She waited a second, then said, louder, "Hello?"

Still nothing. She was about to hang up when a thought hit her. She dropped into her chair and lowered her voice. "Bobby?"

Fin's head snapped around. He lifted an eyebrow in silent query, to which she just shrugged.

"Bobby, is... is that you? Talk to me, please! Don't hang up..."

The answering voice was so soft she had to strain to hear it. "Alex..." The one word was hoarse, raspier than she'd expected, but she'd know it anywhere.

She closed her eyes, offering a quick, silent prayer of thanks. "Bobby... my God! It's really you, isn't it?"

A hand tugged on her arm and she opened her eyes. Fin was pulling her up from the chair and steering her toward an empty conference room. She immediately realized her mistake. She glanced quickly around, but no one was staring at them. No one seemed to have heard.

In the relative safety of the empty room, Alex allowed herself to collapse into a chair, acutely conscious of the glass walls that gave her only limited privacy for what was, without a doubt, the most important phone call of her life.

She was aware that he'd not answered her last question. "Bobby? Are you still there?"

"I'm... I'm here. I needed to hear you... hear you tell me... you're okay?"

She laughed, surprised at the watery sound of it. "I'm fine, Bobby. I got nothing more than a few bruises. You, though..."

"I'm okay," he rushed to say.

"Don't lie to me, Bobby." Her anger at the obvious obfuscation surprised her. "I'm your partner, remember? Partners don't lie to each other."

A long silence met her outburst. Then, "I've been better." He chuckled. "Nothing a week's vacation in a hospital ward and a round of antibiotics wouldn't cure."

"Bobby, Fin is here with me. We... we need to talk to you. We've found some evidence to help you, but we have some questions that only you can answer--"

"I need to talk to you, too. I have some information that I think is important, but... well, to be truthful, my brain isn't really functioning at full capacity right now. I'm just not seeing the connection. I... I need you, Alex. We usually do this together. It's not easy alone."

Alex almost cried at the desperation in his confession. "I know what you mean. I feel the same way." She took a deep breath. "We need to do something to remedy the situation."

"What you found... it's not enough to clear me, is it?" There was no hope in his voice.

She hated to have to say it, but she couldn't avoid the truth. "No. It's not."

"Then if I come in, I'll be arrested."

"Yes."

She heard him sigh. "I can't clear my name if I'm in jail."

"Bobby, Fin and I are doing everything in our power to clear you..."

"I know you are, Alex." His voice broke. He stopped for a moment. When he continued, it was barely audible. "I'm just... I'm so tired..."

Alex closed her eyes and fought back tears. She'd never heard him so despondent, so... lost.

"Maybe it's time to come in, Bobby." She hated herself for saying it. She couldn't even open her eyes to see the shock she knew would be on Fin's face, but he wasn't listening to Bobby. He didn't hear the hopelessness in his voice. "We'll keep working on it. We'll clear you, Bobby. We won't give up."

A long silence, then, "I don't know... I... I need to talk to you. Both of you. But not at the station."

"We'll meet you." She opened her eyes. Fin was staring intently at her. "Tell us where you are. We'll come there. We'll talk. You said it yourself, Bobby, remember? We work better together. We'll figure something out. I swear it to you."

"I don't... I hate to put either of you in the position of having to arrest me. I don't want to do that to you."

"I'm not arresting you!" Alex shot back, insulted that he even though that was a possibility.

"And I'm not letting you risk your career by not doing your duty." He sucked in a breath. "I'll meet you, but bear that in mind, Alex. One way or another, it'll end with you taking me in."

She had no response that wasn't purely emotional, so she remained silent.

"Alex... it's... I think maybe it's what I want. I'm tired of hiding. I'm cold and hungry... I need a doctor... and, to be honest, I'd probably kill for a shower and some clean clothes."

Alex laughed despite herself. Bobby was always so meticulous about his appearance, his hygiene. She could only imagine how he must feel after a nearly two weeks on the streets. "Where are you?"

"Not here. The crime scene... the warehouse by the pier where you were... where you were found."

It was appropriate, she decided. "Okay. An hour?"

"That's good." A long pause. "I'll see you then, Alex."

The line disconnected before she could respond, but she clung to the phone for a few more minutes, hoping, irrationally, that he would pick up again and let her give him a proper goodbye.

She looked up at Fin. "He wants to meet. The warehouse at the pier... the crime scene." She stood.

"He's turning himself in?"

Alex stood and looked out over the busy squad room. "He's tired." She blinked hard as her vision blurred. "He just wants to stop running."

Fin moved up behind her. His voice was gentle. "Maybe it's time."

"He'll be arrested. You know that. All of the evidence points to Bobby. All of it. Our 'gut instinct' isn't going to stop an indictment."

"Then we'll just have to find something else."

"Hell, Fin, isn't that what we've been trying to do?"

"Then we'll have to try harder. I heard what you told Bobby on the phone... that the two of you work better together. So, you'll just have to put your heads together and find what we've missed so far." He put his hands on her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "Listen, Alex, Bobby needs to see a doctor, and if the only way to get him to one is to arrest him, then so be it. We'll deal with it, and we _will_ prove him innocent. I give you my word."

-:-

"Sure you're up for this?"

Up for it? No, Alex admitted to herself, how could she be? But could it be any worse than the crime scene photos? And she'd survived that relatively intact, body and soul. Besides, Bobby was in there.

"I'm fine." She opened the car door and climbed out, her eyes still on the façade of the dilapidated building. There were trailing ends of yellow police tape flapping in the icy wind coming off the water, but that was the only sign that this was the scene of... of what? Her attack? Bobby's frame-up? What should she call it when no one really knew what had happened here?

She took a breath and headed for the door. "That's why we're here," she murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Fin asked, on her heels.

"I said, maybe now, between us, we'll be able to piece this thing together."

"From your lips to God's ears."

Giving the door a push with one gloved hand, Alex stepped into the shadowy front room. From the looks of it, it had once been a reception area of sorts. A couch and several chairs, covered in dust, still lined the walls. There were doors on either end of the long narrow room.

"This way." Fin took the lead, heading for the door to the right.

He turned on his flashlight as he stepped through the door, Alex following suit. As it turned out, they didn't really need the extra illumination. The back wall of the large storage space was lined with windows, most of the panes missing. The late afternoon sun filtered in, lighting the cluttered room in fits and starts. Long shadows reached toward them. She cut off her flashlight and slipped it back into her coat pocket.

"Bobby?" Alex called, her voice as wobbly as her knees. There was no answer.

She stepped further into the room, moving slowly toward the back wall and the large double doors there. Fin moved away a few dozen feet and did the same, playing his flashlight into the shadows along the near wall, where rusty machinery of some sort stood.

"Bobby?" Alex tried to keep her voice steady, but had a feeling she failed. What if he didn't come? What if something had happened after they'd hung up? What if... what if someone had seen him? He could be on his way to jail right now! She reached for her cell phone, no idea who she was going to call or what she was going to ask.

Something moved in the deeper shadows near the back doors. Alex froze in place as a figure stepped out, into the light. Her heart nearly stopped. "Bobby..." It was barely a whisper, but he must have heard her. A ghost of a smile lifted his lips as he returned her gaze.

Alex wanted to cry at the sight of him. He was dressed in a thin, shabby coat over jeans and a sweater, all of which were well worn and not especially clean. He sported a full beard and his hair was unkempt and in need of a trim. Unruly curls framed a face that was almost gaunt, eyes that were sunken and underscored by dark smudges that spoke of ill health and too little sleep. And yet, Alex had never seen a sight so beautiful.

He took a step toward her, and she didn't miss the fact that he was limping badly. The spell broke and Alex flung herself forward, decorum thrown to the wayside as she all but launched herself into his arms. She clung to him for dear life.

"Bobby! Bobby... God, it's really you... you came... I was so afraid you wouldn't, that something would happen, or that you'd be spotted before you got here."

He returned the embrace with one arm. "Alex..." It was the only word he spoke, and it was barely a whisper, but to Alex's ears, it was the Halleluiah Chorus by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for all its sweetness.

Alex heard movement behind her and Bobby's arm loosened its grip. She moved backward a step, suddenly embarrassed by her unprofessional display. One look at Bobby's emotion-filled eyes and she dismissed the foolish misgivings. Now was not the time to worry about respectability.

"Bobby. Damn, man, it's good to see you."

Bobby reached out his right hand to Fin, but the man pulled him into a full hug. Bobby grunted softly, the sound giving way to a short coughing spell.

Fin looked like he'd been punched. "Did I hurt you?"

Bobby shook his head. "No... just... just a little sore."

"Your left hand..." Alex had noticed Bobby had it tucked protectively into his coat pocket.

"Broken." He started to pull it from the pocket, but aborted the move. "It's... it's okay. A doctor set it."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "A real doctor?"

Bobby lifted one corner of his mouth. "Not exactly."

"The same one who's been treating your pneumonia, too, I'd wager."

"It's just a cold..." At Alex's and Fin's twin looks of disbelief, he changed his tune. "The flu, maybe."

"Pneumonia, almost certainly," Alex corrected, lifting a hand to his forehead. "You have a fever."

Bobby shrugged.

"That's what happens when you go into the river in the middle of November." Fin chuckled, but the sound held little humor. "We need to get you to a doctor, Bobby."

"Not... not yet." Bobby reached for Alex's arm almost absentmindedly, as though he needed to reassure himself that she was real. She moved closer and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"We need to talk first, Tut," Bobby started.

Alex shot a look at the other detective. "Tut?"

"You will never speak of that name again, woman," Fin said, his voice gruff in spite of the grin that threatened to split his face. "If Bobby wasn't bigger than me, he'd have already paid the price for disrespecting the name."

Bobby didn't respond to the gentle teasing. His expression had grown grim. Lines appeared around his eyes and mouth.

"Bobby...?" Alex grasped his arm as he swayed. "Are you all right?"

He attempted a smile, but it fell flat, never doing much more than tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The adrenaline... it's, it's starting to wear off, I think."

Fin dragged a packing crate closer. "Sit down before you fall down. Unless you're ready to get the hell out of here?"

Bobby sat, but shook his head. "Not yet. We need to talk first. I don't know if we'll get much of a chance after you take me in."

Alex grasped his shoulder. The physical contact acting as both an anchor and a reminder that yes, ohmigod, Bobby really was alive and in one piece. Relatively speaking. For too long her over-active imagination had practiced scenarios of this moment that included neither. "Bobby, we're not going to arrest you--"

"I don't think you have a choice." A sad look crossed his expression as he looked at her. "And it's what I want, Alex. Really." He looked at Fin. "I need to know what you have on the case, why you believe it wasn't me."

Fin sank his hands into his pockets. "First off, there was your 911 tape--"

"I-I called 911?"

"No, you didn't," Alex said, "but it was made to sound like you. The voice was off, but the speech patterns were very similar."

"The perp called from your cell phone." Fin took over the story. "He pretended to be you and apologized for hurting Alex. He put on quite a show, had everyone convinced until Alex heard the call. She knew instantly it wasn't you."

"How?"

Alex smiled. "You don't stammer when you're upset. At least not that much. The voice in the tape was hesitating and stammering so much it was really nothing more than a bad caricature of you."

"It was someone who knows me well enough to do a reasonably accurate imitation."

Alex nodded. "One good enough to fool almost everyone."

"Alex was the only one who knew," Fin said. "And she was sure enough to sell it to the captain."

Bobby met her gaze. "If not for you..."

"Someone else would have figured it out eventually."

Bobby shook his head. "No one else knows me that well." He threw a half-smile at Fin. "Not even Tut."

"But he knew you would never commit suicide. He was adamant about it. By the time I'd gotten out of the hospital, he'd already transferred to Major Case and convinced Captain Deakins that something was fishy."

"I knew, but didn't have anything concrete to go on. Once Alex confirmed it wasn't you on the tape, we had a starting point. Your cell phone was our second solid clue.

"My cell phone...?"

"We found it on the pier, next to where it was assumed you jumped, but it only had your prints on it."

Bobby's brow creased in puzzlement. "How is that a clue?"

"You must really be sick," Alex laughed. "Normally, you'd be the first one to figure that one out. My phone died earlier in the day, remember?"

He thought about it for a few seconds. "I loaned you mine."

"Which means my prints should have been on your phone."

"Unless I cleaned it."

"Did you?" Fin asked.

Bobby dropped his gaze. "There are large chunks of that day missing. I-I can't say for sure what I did..." He looked up. "I don't know why I would have... but-but it's possible."

"Speaking of large chunks missing..." Fin crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't suppose you know where your notebook ended up."

"Funny you should ask," Bobby said, his eyes narrowing. "That's something I've been trying to work out myself."

"There's a crime scene photo," Alex continued, "taken the morning after the attack that shows a woman in the background. I don't know if you remember it, but Friday morning, you talked to that same woman--"

"Mary."

"You remember her?" Fin asked, surprise and hope tingeing his tone.

Bobby nodded. "I... yes, I remember." His gaze wandered the room as he spoke. "We were interrogating her about the Mr. Clean case."

"But only you talked to her. I didn't hear what she told you," Alex reminded him. "And without your notebook, no one but you knew what she said. We're hoping it wasn't a coincidence that the same woman turned up again just hours later at the crime scene."

"But even if it was," Fin said, "we're hoping she saw something."

"Actually," Bobby said, frowning, "I think it might have been. A coincidence, I mean. The river is Mary's territory. She's a river rat. But-but she did see something. That night. She witnessed what happened. I... I talked to her..."

"When?" Alex asked, shooting a glance at Fin.

Bobby thought for a moment. "I've lost track of the days." He looked up at Alex. "I've been living in the tunnels--"

Alex suppressed a shudder at the pronouncement. She knew too much about life in the tunnels to not be scared spitless just thinking about Bobby down there... the sort of people he'd been forced to hide among.

"There's no night or day down there," Bobby continued. "But it wasn't long after I woke up, which was four days after the attack, I think."

Fin let out a long, emotion-filled breath. Alex flashed him a quick look, and could tell his thoughts were running along similar lines as her own. But neither of them voiced their concerns at Bobby's matter-of-fact revelations. There'd be time enough for that later.

"Did she see who it was?" Alex asked, even though she knew it wasn't going to be that easy. It was never that easy.

Bobby shook his head. "She has a strange way of talking--"

"In rhyme," Fin said.

"Quotations," Alex corrected.

"And definitions," Bobby added with a ghost of a smile. "It makes it a little hard to follow her initially. And I wasn't exactly at full brain power at the time."

"What did she say?" Alex pressed. She sat down beside Bobby on the crate and grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you remember what she said she saw?"

"A battle... a fight on the pier." His gaze turned inward. "And me... in the water..." For a moment he was silent. When he looked up, locking gazes with Alex, her heart nearly broke at the anguish in his eyes.

"I remember the water." His voice was soft, tortured. "I've forgotten everything else about that night. _Everything._ But I remember the water. Doesn't really seem fair... to-to remember how it felt to die, but not to remember the important things."

Alex squeezed his hand tighter. "No, it's doesn't. I'm sorry." She was at a loss for words, wanting desperately to comfort him somehow, but knowing nothing she could say would banish the memories for him.

"Mary saw you fighting with someone on the pier?" Fin asked.

Alex threw him a smile, grateful for the distraction. Bobby would have to deal with the emotions of the last two weeks at some point, but what he needed right now was to focus on what he could do to help himself, to move forward.

"Did she see who it was? Could she at least give a description?"

Bobby shook his head. His expression grew anxious. "She didn't say. I-I should have asked her directly, but... but I wasn't thinking straight. Why didn't I ask her?" He looked to Alex as though expecting her to explain the blunder to him.

"You were hurt, Bobby," Fin answered instead. "Cut yourself some slack, man. No matter what anyone else may think, you're not superman." He finished with a smile, letting Bobby know he was merely teasing. "What else did she tell you?"

Bobby turned troubled eyes to him. "She saw a struggle. Someone threw me in the water. And-and me, coming out of the water. That's all she said about it. I didn't ask her if she saw who did it." He thought for a few seconds. "We have to find her. I was looking for her... to ask her about something else, but we need to ask her if she saw who I was fighting with."

Alex and Fin exchanged looks. The gesture wasn't lost on Bobby. "What?"

"Mary is dead," Alex told him. "Her body was found yesterday, a few blocks from here."

A stricken expression crossed his face at the news. "Was she..." He trailed off, unable to complete the question, but Alex knew what he was asking.

"Officially it's listed as natural causes. Heart attack."

"Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" Fin asked. "You questioned her that Friday morning. She was a witness to at least part of the attack. We were looking for her, you were looking for her. And now she's dead."

"You're not buying natural causes," Bobby stated.

"Do you?" Alex asked.

Bobby was quiet a moment. "If it was, it was incredibly fortuitous for our perp." He looked up at Fin. "There are too many coincidences." He locked gazes with Alex. "It was the same man. From the Mr. Clean case. Whoever killed those women... he's the same one who attacked us. We were getting too close."

"But why this..." Fin waved a hand, encompassing the room they were sitting in with the gesture, "this elaborate set up, attacking Alex, framing you. Making it look like you killed yourself. Why not just kill you and be done with it?"

Alex recognized the expression that crossed Bobby's face and almost smiled. Even with the beard, the sunken, haunted eyes, the dirt, this was the Bobby she knew best. The one who was meticulously analyzing all the obscure bits of evidence to form a theory that seemed like an impossible jump in logic to anyone watching. It was the first sign of the old Bobby she'd observed yet, and damn, but it was good to see!

"Because it became personal to him. The... the thrill, the challenge of outsmarting us. It became a game, and when he began to feel like he was losing, it became personal. He had to strike back at Alex and me personally, in a way that would hurt more than simply killing us." He looked from one to the other of them. "He had to destroy us." He settled his gaze on Alex. "By destroying your trust in me, making you believe I would hurt you like that. And by forever destroying my reputation. Making everyone's worst fear for my... my sanity... come true."

"And it almost worked," Alex murmured.

"He has to have connections in the station," Fin said, "to have played you like that. He knew you were getting close. He spiked your coffee."

Bobby nodded absently, his mind clearly racing ahead. "Connections in the station... or... or... " He jumped to his feet.

Alex grasped his arms when he swayed, but he shook her off and paced away a few steps, rubbing at the back of his neck. She gave him his space, knowing the signs. He was on the verge of figuring something out. Something important.

When the silence stretched out for too many minutes, she exchanged a look with Fin, who simply shrugged. "Bobby..." she said, hoping to call him back to the present.

Another minute of silence, then a softly muttered, "Son of a bitch..." He spun around, nearly falling over from the sudden movement. "_Son of a bitch!_ I-I-I know what Mary was trying to tell me. I know who it is!"

There was the unmistakable snick of a gun's safety being taken off. "That's a shame, Goren. A real damned shame."

-:-


	16. Chapter 15

-:-

**Chapter 15: Murder**

_transitive verb_  
1: to kill (a human being) unlawfully and with premeditated malice  
2: to slaughter wantonly  
3 : to put an end to

-:-

The familiar voice sent a chill through Bobby. He turned slowly, taking a step to the right as he did.

"Nice try, Goren," Ted Waine said. "I'd expect no less from the almighty Detective Robert Goren, but it just won't do. Step out from in front of Eames, and do it quickly."

Waine had already killed four people -- five if, as Bobby suspected, he was also somehow responsible for Mary's death -- and he'd tried to kill him. He wouldn't have any qualms about killing again. Still, Bobby hesitated, not willing to leave Alex to face the wrong end of the man's gun. "You're going to shoot anyhow. You have no choice."

"True, but I have plenty of time. I can make it as slow as I want. Move," he lowered the muzzle of the gun, "or I'll start with the knee."

When Bobby still didn't move, Alex stepped out from behind him. "Don't, Bobby," she warned in a low voice.

"Listen to her, 'Bobby.' Let's make this easy on everyone, shan't we, and not do anything stupid. I want everybody's hands where I can see them. Nice and easy. Get your hand out of your pocket, Goren."

Bobby pulled his broken left hand out and lifted it to the side in plain view. "It's broken. Not much I could do with it." He raised it high enough for his coat sleeve to fall down, showing Doc's homemade splint. "I imagine that's your doing."

"And the omnipotent Goren's record remains intact. Seriously, man, are you ever wrong?" He wrinkled his nose. "Well, other than your current taste in hygiene, of course. How can you stand the filth?" With an exaggerated shudder, he directed his gaze to Alex. "You can bring me your guns... by the barrels, if you please. And you might want to bear in mind, I have my own aimed right at your precious partner's head."

"You can't make it look like murder/suicide this time," Fin said, as Alex pulled his gun from its holster.

"Well, to be fair, you're technically only half right about the murder/suicide." Waine grinned. "If I'd intended to kill Alex, she'd be dead." He pointed the end of his gun to the floor at his feet briefly, and then back to Bobby's head. "Eject the clips and set them down right there. Now back over there by your friends."

Alex followed his directions, moving back to a spot halfway between Bobby and Fin.

"Friends," Bobby repeated. "That was your mistake the first time. You didn't count on my friends."

Waine shrugged one shoulder. "All hail the mighty Goren."

"Oh, I make my share of mistakes. Ask Alex. Or Tut. He and I have worked together." Bobby eyed a broken piece of lumber laying halfway between him and Waine. He risked a step forward, closer to it, stopping abruptly when the barrel of Waine's gun lifted a little higher in response. "Everyone makes mistakes. Yours, Ted, was not counting on my friends... isn't that right?"

Waine's lips stretched thin in a grimace. "I didn't count on their loyalty. True."

"You thought everyone would be quick to believe I could snap. You thought it was what they were waiting for. But you didn't count on Alex and Tut standing up for me. Believing I was innocent."

Waine directed his gaze to Fin and Alex. "You should have believed it. Everything would have worked out perfectly if you'd have only let it go and bought it like everyone else."

"Not everyone," Fin contradicted. "Captain Deakins was never completely sold on the idea of Bobby hurting Alex and offing himself. He was only too quick to turn the reins of this investigation over to me to prove otherwise. And I'm sure there were others. Anyone who's ever worked with Bobby knew better, no matter what it looked like."

"No... no that's not true," Waine protested. "They all believed it. I know, I was right there, working beside them. Everyone bought it until you took over the case and started grasping at straws."

"Whatever," Fin said with a half-shrug. "If you sleep better nights thinking that, go right ahead." He cocked his head. "Guess we know now why you were so gung-ho to make Ellis look guilty."

"Don't forget," Alex added, "he's the one who brought Ellis and Barco to our attention in the first place. Not very imaginative, but then criminals seldom are when they're panicked."

Bobby recognized the names, if not the reference.

"It may have lacked creativity," Waine conceded with a frown, "but it served its purpose."

"Not if its purpose was to frame Ellis," Alex pointed out. "Otherwise, why would we be here? Why wouldn't Ellis be in jail and you be in some bar drinking to your victory?"

A flicker of anger flashed through Waine's expression.

"You made rookie mistakes from the start," Bobby said, drawing the man's attention back to himself. "One after another, the mistakes started piling up." He held up his fingers, ticking them off as he named them. "You miscalculated my friends' loyalty. You failed to kill me. You left a witness--"

Waine smiled, flashing a row of perfect, white teeth. "Now, granted you being alive is a huge miscalculation on my part, one that I'm about to remedy, but the witness... she's been taken care of."

"I'm not talking about Mary." Bobby grinned, taking another small step toward the two-by-four when Waine's gun wavered. "And I'm not talking about the attack. I'm talking about the murders... the prostitutes. There's a witness, and that's just sloppy, Ted. Poor planning, if you ask me. Hell, I've arrested two-bit drug dealers who thought things out better than you."

Color drained from Waine's face. The unnatural whiteness of it nearly glowed in the fading light. "What... who are you talking about?"

"The first one. The very first hooker you picked up." It was a guess, wild and unsubstantiated, but it made sense, and it was their only hope, so he ran with it, embellishing as he went. "The very first one, all those years ago in Philadelphia. You forced her to scrub herself clean and wash her hair before you'd even touch her. Remember that, Ted? Washing her and making her dress in brand new clothes? Only you didn't kill this one. You left her alive to tell her story... and she is. Once she realized that it was the same MO as the murders, it all came back to her, and she's telling anyone who'll listen. It's only a matter of time before her story gets to the cops and they sit her down with a sketch artist. Your clock is winding down, Ted. The clock on your freedom."

"No, there's no witness. You're lying!"

"Then why are you panicking? Hmm?" Bobby cocked his head to the side. "Why are you getting nervous, if it's all a lie?" He smiled, the white of his teeth bright against the black of his beard. "Is it because you don't know for sure? You can't remember if there was one... way back at the beginning, before you became a killer? One who could have made the connection to the killings? Granted, your methods became more... refined over the years, but the basic MO was the same. You made her wash. You even made her scrub under her fingernails, didn't you? Did you do that, Ted? Make her clean under her fingernails?" He clicked his tongue in mock admonishment. "That seems a-a-a little... OCD to me, Ted. Don't you think? But you... you can't make love to a woman who isn't clean. I mean _really_ clean... can you? Can't you... get it up with an unclean woman? I mean, really... does the idea of getting a little dirt on you... does it scare you that much?"

Despite the cold, sweat broke out on Waine's forehead. The hand holding the gun shook ever so slightly. Enough to tell Bobby that his bluff was hitting a mark. He pressed the advantage.

"It does, doesn't it, Ted? It scares you. You washed them because you're afraid of dirt. We've all noticed it. The way you subtly wipe your hand on your pants after a handshake. How you wipe chairs down with your handkerchief before sitting down. The extra large bottle of hand sanitizer on your desk... That's what gave you away, you know. The sanitizer -- it was the clue that gave you away."

"Shut up!" The end of the gun came up.

Bobby took a breath, waiting for the bullet. When it didn't come, he pushed again, harder. "Mary told me, the morning of the attack... speaking of Mary... she must have really creeped you out. I mean she was... she was _dirty_. Living on the streets like she did. She smelled, too. I noticed that about her. She smelled like... like eggs... old eggs and older cheese. The smell must have driven you crazy." He started to edge closer, but a spasm in his leg stopped him. He shifted his weight to the other one. He couldn't stop while he had the advantage. He had to keep Ted off balance, out of control.

"I didn't understand what Mary was trying to tell me at first. 'Bobby,' she said, and I thought she was just saying my name... but 'copper buttons'... that was the thing that made me realize... she-she was talking about a cop. And then there was the other thing she said... tea tree, isopropyl alcohol, cadamer... I looked that up when I got back to the station. It's the ingredients of a certain brand of-of hand sanitizer. The brand you use, Ted. That really large bottle on your desk... I remember the tea tree oil. It has a distinctive scent. I remembered the odor lingered around you. Very subtle... but you do know that scent is a memory trigger, don't you, Ted? Mary... she must have seen you use the sanitizer. You did, didn't you, Ted? You washed your hands with it after touching that woman's body, the one she saw you kill...because you can't have... you can't have a _dead_ woman's _germs_ on you, can you?"

It was subtle, only the slightest twitch of the lips in tandem with a narrowing of eyes, but Bobby didn't miss it. It might have been a guess, but it had hit it's mark. Not that it was a stretch. Common sense reasoning, really. He pressed on. "There is a witness out there, Ted. Even if you find a way to get away with killing the three of us -- and that's doubtful -- can you find her and kill her, too? Do you even remember who she is? Where she is?"

"He can't kill us and get away with it, Bobby," Fin said. "He's not that smart. Look how he screwed it up the first time he tried."

"I think you're right, Tut, but I'm betting his ego's big enough to delude him into thinking he can get away with it."

"There is no witness!" Waine took a deep breath, repeating in a calmer tone, "There's no witness. You're lying. I see through you, Goren. You forget that I understand you. I know how you work."

"Oh, yes, I... I forgot." Bobby smiled. "You fancy yourself a profiler." He cocked his head to the side. "If you're a profiler, Ted, then you're already in my head. You know how I operate... how I think." Another step. "Just like I know you."

"You don't know _any_thing about me!" Waine's chin -- and his gun -- lifted, his eyes hardening with defiance.

"I know that you think you're got this all planned out. Let's see if I've figured it right. You're going to shoot Alex and Tut first, with one of their guns, of course. Then you're going to shoot me with the same gun, point blank in the head. And you'll then 'find' the bodies. Or... or maybe you'll just leave them for someone else to stumble across, like you did Mary's. Either way, you'll convince everyone that I set this meeting up to kill them. That I overpowered Alex, took her gun and shot them both, before turning the gun on myself to finish the job I didn't quite get right the first time."

"But that won't work," Alex said. "Because no one believes Bobby is guilty of the first attack and suicide attempt."

"You're wrong -- they will believe it." Ted smirked. "When they find your bodies and see what he's done, they'll forget the flimsy evidence you conjured up to clear his name. They'll be quick to believe he could snap, because it's what they want to believe. It's what they've expected all along."

"Are you so sure of that?" Fin asked. "Are you sure enough to stake your life on it? Because if you shoot us, that's what you'll be doing... staking your life on the chance that they'll be willing to fall for your little fantasy."

Bobby watched Waine's face as Fin spoke. He saw the tiny flicker of doubt cross his expression. "They're right, Ted. The first time, you had the element of surprise on your side. Not... not this time. No one will believe it."

"Even if you convince everyone else," Alex said, "Deakins will never buy it. He never really believed it the first time."

"Shut up! All of you, just... just shut up!"

"What I don't understand," Fin continued to push, "is why you killed those girls. You couldn't find any who'd willingly clean themselves up for you?"

"Oh, he could," Bobby answered for Waine. "But then the idea of them going back to their lives of filth was too much for him. He made them... he made them perfect... pristine... but only for the time they were with him. Afterwards, they would just go back to what they were when he picked them up, and... and you couldn't have that, could you, Ted? You wanted to preserve them as they were... in that perfect moment. Perfectly clean, immaculately dressed. Every hair... in place. If you killed them then, in that moment... you could have that memory untainted... forever."

"It's over, Ted," Alex said, starting to lower her hands. "You can't make this work. You're best bet is to leave now and try to get a head start."

While Waine's attention was focused on Alex, Bobby took one more step toward the potential weapon.

Fin noticed Bobby's movement and made one of his own, stepping to his right to draw Waine's attention even further away. Waine responded by swinging the gun toward Fin. Bobby knew it was the best opening he was going to get. He dropped to one knee and his hand wrapped around the two-by-four in one much-too-awkward movement. Waine, spun back around bringing the gun up and to bear, but Bobby was already hefting the piece of lumber. He couldn't get much momentum with only his non-dominant hand. It found its mark, but with no strength behind the swing it did little more than graze Waine's ear, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to bring him down or loosen his grip on the gun. Before either Alex or Fin could do more than step forward, Waine brought the gun up and fired. A deafening roar echoed through the building.

Dimly, Bobby heard Alex yell his name. He looked up at her, confused by the horrified expression on her face. Why was she so upset? Why were tears filling her eyes? The cold from the floor seeped into Bobby's muscles. Funny, he didn't remember laying down. He blinked slowly, finding it ridiculously difficult to keep his eyes open.

The roar in his ears increased. He looked around. Waine was still waving the gun, yelling something, but no sound was coming from his mouth. At least none that Bobby could hear. Had he gone deaf?

God, he was tired all of a sudden. Somewhere, someone was calling his name, but he ignored it, and let his eyes slide shut. Why fight it? A short nap might give him a second wind. Might... might...

No! Wait... no, he couldn't sleep yet. There was something he had to do...

With a will he didn't know he possessed, Bobby forced his eyes open. It took a minute for his vision to focus. Waine had his back to Bobby. He was pointing something at Alex and lifting his arm. Gun... yes, it was a gun. God! It was a gun, and he was going to shoot Alex.

An ungodly roar filled the empty room for a second time. Bobby realized dimly that the sound came from him and he wondered at its purpose. He had no memory of standing, or even how he had managed it given the absolute exhaustion that had enveloped him just seconds before. He only knew that he was running full tilt.

Waine turned just seconds before the impact, his eyes widening impossibly large just as Bobby's huge frame rammed him. They both hit the floor. Bobby nearly screamed at the agony that shot through him on impact. He rolled off of the other man, but his energy, adrenaline, strength... all of it was gone. He laid there like a deflated balloon. He heard shouting...

...a shot...

_God, Waine shot... Get the hell off the floor! Please, God, don't let him... but he had... he shot Alex... I failed to stop Ted. I failed and he shot Alex. She's dead and it's my fault... my fault because I can't get the hell up off of the floor ... _

_Oh, God...please, no... _

"Bobby!"

Hands rolled him to his back, lifted his head enough for something soft to slide under it. He tried and failed to open his eyes.

"Bobby, please... _Bobby_!"

Alex?

"Bobby, hang on..."

The roar in his ears increased. He could hear her voice, but the words were becoming less distinct. But she was safe... alive! God, she was alive! Nothing else mattered. He could sleep now. Alex was safe.

"Damn it, Robert Goren! You'd better damn well listen to me! Open your goddamn eyes! You hear me? Open your eyes!?"

She sounded so angry... and... and sad...

"Don't you dare die, Bobby! Don't you dare... Please, Bobby..."

Why did she sound so sad? With a monumental effort, he opened his eyes. Alex's face was directly above his. He tried to reach up to her, but his arm was just too damned heavy to lift. He settled for a smile... or what he hoped was a smile. He couldn't really tell if he actually moved his lips or not, but clearly Alex noticed the effort. She smiled in return, some indefinable emotion sweeping over her wet face.

"Bobby!"

"Hey..." Was that his voice? It was so... weak. Much like he felt.

"Hey, yourself." She laughed, a watery, bubbly sound. "Stay with me, Bobby. Okay? Help is on the way. You hang on, okay?"

"You... not shot...?"

"I'm fine... I'm okay. Fin, too." She looked away for a minute, then back down at him. "He's okay..." But her voice didn't sound too certain.

"Ted..."

Alex looked away again. "Fin went after him. I... I heard some shots... but..."

"Go..." Alex looked down at him. "Go help him, Alex..."

"I can't leave you, Bobby."

"I'm not... going anywhere... Go..."

Alex opened her mouth, but before she could voice what was likely another protest, Bobby heard a sound somewhere out of his line of sight. Alex looked toward it, a grin splitting her face. "Fin!"

A moment later, his dark face appeared over Bobby.

"Tut..."

The man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "How many times I gotta tell you to stop calling me that?"

Fin was fine. Alex was fine. Bobby let his eyes slide closed. There was nothing left to worry about. Everyone was fine... and he was just so damned tired.

"Bobby! Open your eyes!" Fin commanded. A soft slap stung the side of his face.

Surprised, Bobby opened his eyes. "What...?"

"Stay with us, Bobby," Alex said, running her fingers lightly over his forehead.

Her hand was warm. It felt good. He was so cold.

"Tired..."

"I know you are, but you can't sleep yet. Okay? You have to stay awake until the bus gets here. I need you to do that for me, Bobby. Okay?"

For Alex... "'kay..." He blinked. When had it gotten so dark? Had the sun gone down?

"Talk to us, Bobby," Fin ordered. "Keep talking, that'll help you stay awake."

"'kay," he said again, but made no effort to do as he was told. An ache in his chest was beginning to make itself known, and talking made it worse.

"Bobby?"

Bobby blinked at the concern in Alex's voice. Why was she so upset? "Wha' hap'n'd? You.. okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Why... are you so... sad...?"

"Oh, Bobby!" She choked back a sound like a cross between a hiccup and a laugh. "You were shot, you big idiot! Of course, I'm sad!"

"Shot..." Bobby exhaled a chuckle that turned into a gut-wrenching cough. "'splains a lot."

"Waine shot you," Fin explained. He grasped Bobby's arm and squeezed. "Stay with us, Bobby. Come on, open your eyes."

When had they closed? Bobby complied, the effort impossibly harder each time.

"Waine shot you, and he was about to shoot Alex when you threw yourself at him. It was enough to give us a chance to get the upper hand."

"You... you got him?"

"Hell, yeah, I got him." A grin split Fin's face. "The son of a bitch is outside, and he ain't going nowhere no time soon."

Bobby wanted to grin in return, but his body refused the command. It was getting darker... so dark he was having trouble making out Alex's face. He blinked a couple of times. The last time, he didn't bother opening his eyes again.

"Bobby?"

It was the last sound he heard.

-:-


	17. Chapter 16

-:-

**Chapter 16: Repair**

_verb_  
1: to restore by putting together what is torn or broken  
2: to restore to a sound or healthy state  
3: to make good

-:-

A clock ticked.

Rain tapped against the window.

The scent of alcohol tickled annoyingly at his nose.

And his chest hurt like hell.

All of these thoughts assailed him within a millisecond of waking up. It was enough to make him quickly reach for the mantle of sleep once more. But try as he might, he couldn't fully draw it back over himself. The ache in his chest was too sharp, too strong to ignore.

A new noise drew his attention away from the discomfort. It was a scratching sound, very close by. He couldn't immediately identify it, and curiosity finally convinced him to abandon attempts to reclaim sleep. He opened his eyes.

A man stood over him, busy writing something on a clipboard. The source of the scratching sound. Bobby blinked in an attempt to focus on the man. Not too tall, balding, thin face, sharp features... the face wasn't familiar. The white lab coat, however, was. A doctor. And the alcohol/disinfectant scent...

Hospital.

Which explained the growing pain in his chest.

"Ah, you're awake."

Bobby blinked up at the doctor.

The man set the clipboard on the side table. "I'm Doctor Booth. I've been taking care of you." He frowned. "Judging by the confusion on your face, you have some questions."

Bobby tried to clear his throat, wincing at the pain that met his effort.

"Hold on." Dr. Booth turned away. After a minute, he turned back, a cup of water in his hand. "Brace yourself," he warned, raising the head of the bed slightly before putting the straw to Bobby's lips. "Small sips... that's good." Too soon, he withdrew the cup. "Let's see how that's going to sit in your stomach first. Some patients have trouble keeping anything down after surgery."

Bobby tried again and this time, the freshly lubricated throat cooperated. "Surgery...?" Even that one word took more of an effort than it should have.

"To remove the bullet... but I can see you don't remember even that much." He rested a hand briefly on Bobby's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. It's not at all unusual for memories to take a few minutes to return. You've been on a lot of heavy duty sedatives and pain reducers for the past 24 hours. We're starting to taper those off now, so your mind will begin to clear as they leave your system."

Dr. Booth offered the cup again. "Looks like that's going to stay down. Let's try again." This time he let Bobby drink until he was satisfied. "Better?"

Bobby nodded. "Yes... thanks." He was pleased to hear his voice sounding a bit more like it should.

"I know you have some questions, but let's deal with the medical issues first." He set the cup on the bedside table and picked up the chart he'd been writing in earlier. "To start off with, you're recovering from surgery to remove a bullet in your chest."

Bobby looked down, noticing for the first time that his chest was swathed in thick white bandages.

"Luckily, it missed anything vital, a miracle in itself, considering how much there is in the chest that is vital. But it did tear a nasty hole through the muscle, which is why you likely feel like hell right now."

Bobby couldn't argue with his assessment. Now that the medications were wearing off and he was more fully awake, the pain was fast taking on a life all its own.

"Once we got you stable, our orthopedic surgeon had a go at your wrist. He had to re-break and reset it, though to hear him tell it, whoever did it the first time did a pretty damn good job. If it'd had better protection, it likely wouldn't have had to been reset. Hope you like blue."

When Bobby frowned at the seeming non-sequitur, he nodded toward Bobby's left arm. Bobby looked down at his wrist to find it wrapped in a dark blue fiberglass cast. Not only was it more attractive than his old wooden splint, but it was infinitely more comfortable.

"Blue... is good."

Dr. Booth smiled. "Beats wood slats any day, in my book."

"Doc... the guy who splinted it... he-he tried."

"I'm sure he did the best he could, but you could have used a real doctor. You nearly pushed your luck too far."

Bobby looked up at him.

"You've been entertaining a hearty case of walking pneumonia for the past two weeks, not to mention the condition of your feet. How you were walking at all is beyond me. You've got an infection going that would have brought a lesser man to his knees, and that's on top of the glass still embedded in the deepest of the cuts. It looked like you'd been dancing on a bed of crushed glass."

"I don't remember exactly how I did that," Bobby admitted sheepishly. "I think I was running for my life at the time, though, so a few cuts... that's not the worst that could have happened."

"We're not talking about a few cuts, but I think you know that already." The doctor sighed. "You don't even want to know how many stitches you have in you right now. Still, as bad as it all could have been, and probably has been, it's nothing that time and antibiotics won't cure. And by time, I really mean rest. Lots and lots of rest. You've been sleeping for nearly twenty-four hours now. Repeat that times five or six, and maybe you'll earn yourself a pass out of here."

"Not-not a problem," Bobby assured him.

Dr. Booth chuckled. "That's the remnants of the sedatives speaking. I'm going to hold off on any more if you promise me you won't get cranky about having to lay in the bed and sleep." He waited until Bobby nodded, and then added, "I'll send a nurse in with something for the pain. I can tell by the furrows in your forehead that you need it, so don't argue. It might make you sleepy, but it won't make your head as fuzzy as the sedatives. I want you to try to stay awake long enough to eat something, too. IV fluids might be nutritious, but they're not very satisfying, and I can hear your stomach growling from here."

He gestured over his shoulder, toward the door. "There's a very unhappy contingent out there, angry with me for throwing them out so I could examine you, but I think I can smooth their ruffled feathers by telling them you're awake. If you're up for the company, that is...?"

Alex. Bobby smiled. "Yes... please... send her in."

"You know it's a 'her', then, huh?" He quirked an eyebrow before turning to disappear through the door.

Bobby could hear voices on the other side. A few seconds later the door burst open, and Alex charged through. She was followed by Fin, and to Bobby's surprise, Captain Deakins. Alex moved to his side and took his hand in hers, leaving the other two standing at the foot of the bed.

"Bobby!" There was no mistaking the pleasure and relief in her voice. "We were beginning to think you were going to sleep straight on through Christmas."

"Feel like I could."

"Don't you dare try," she cautioned. "I know you need your rest -- believe me, the doctor has warned us about that -- but we've been going crazy waiting on you to wake up and assure us you're really okay."

"I-I'm sorry that I worried you."

Alex smiled. "Only you would apologize for getting yourself shot, Bobby Goren. Only you." Her smile faded. "How do you feel... really? Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. "It's not too bad."

"You certainly look better -- almost human," Fin said, rubbing at his own chin. "Beard's gone."

"Nice to be clean again," Bobby agreed.

"I'll bet. Hate to tell you, man, but you were smelling a bit ripe back there at the warehouse."

"You go two weeks with only a bowl of water to bathe in... see how you smell."

Fin chuckled.

"I, for one, don't care what you smell like, it's good to have you back," Deakins said.

"The pleasure's mine, believe me." Bobby's eyes slid around the room, noticing for the first time that it was filled with flowers and balloons. "What... who...?"

"Everyone," Alex said. "The guys at the station and your friends. I don't know all of the names."

"Nothing like being resurrected from the dead to shake people up," Fin said.

"That," Deakins added, "coupled with a healthy dose of guilt, I'd wager. People are feeling pretty bad for having believed the worst."

"The flowers are nice," Bobby said, "but the guilt... it's unnecessary. The evidence was really strong against me, from what I hear."

Deakins shook his head. "Maybe so, but guilt isn't always a bad thing. They need to make it up to you to feel better about it, so let them. I don't think you'll be fetching your own coffee for a long time to come."

"Long as it doesn't come from the shop next door," Alex said.

Bobby chuckled. A short barking cough followed. Alex poured more water into his cup and held it to his lips. He sipped it gratefully, closing his eyes in pleasure.

"Are you tired? Should we go?" Alex asked.

Bobby opened his eyes. "No... no, I was just..." He chewed his bottom lip, embarrassed to admit the truth. "I was relishing the taste of clean water. It's... it's been a while..."

Alex nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I guess it's a hard commodity to come by down in the tunnels."

"Yeah..." Bobby left it at that. He didn't want to talk about his time in the tunnels right now. He changed the subject, hoping she would understand. "What happened at the warehouse?" It was beginning to come back, just as Dr. Booth had predicted, but there were still uncomfortable gaps. He didn't remember getting shot at all.

The three exchanged glances. It was Fin who took the initiative. "You sure you're up to this? We've been threatened, you know."

Bobby smiled. "I promise to fall asleep in the middle if it gets too boring."

"Just like old times, huh?" Fin chuckled. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Some... it's beginning to come back. I-I... I remember Ted..." He scrunched his face, focusing inward as he tried to dredge up details that were evading his tired mind. "I remember the gun... He shot me?"

Alex nodded. "After you tried to take him out with a board."

He remembered the failed attack. "Not my finest moment."

"Maybe not, but it rattled him enough for you to get the jump on him just as he was about to shoot Alex," Fin said. "And that was _after_ he shot you."

Try as he might, Bobby couldn't remember that part of the story at all, and for once, he was glad for the memory lapse. He didn't want the image of Ted aiming the gun at Alex, on the verge of pulling the trigger to haunt his dreams. That was one memory he could live without. "What happened to him?"

No one spoke for a long minute. Bobby looked from one to the other, his mind making a leap that left him with a dry mouth. "He... he got away?"

"No... no, he's safely in jail," Alex said quickly, putting Bobby's mind at ease.

"Then why the long faces?" Bobby pressed.

Deakins drew in a long breath. "His lawyer's already filed the paperwork for a psych evaluation."

"They're claiming insanity?"

"He's not insane," Alex said, frowning. "He's..."

"Eccentric?" Bobby supplied.

"I was going to say evil."

Bobby nodded. That fit, too. Waine wasn't insane, that was as clear to Bobby as his own sanity, but eccentric? They could both claim that moniker.

The door opened and a young, red-headed nurse in bright pink scrubs entered with a tray. "Hello there, Detective Goren. I'm Diane, your nurse for the night. Dr. Booth ordered you some Dilaudid for the pain. It'll make you sleepy, so do you want to wait until your visitors leave?"

"We should go and let you rest--" Alex began.

Bobby tightened his hand around hers. "No, not... not yet."

"It's okay," Diane said, placing the tray onto the mobile table. She took a syringe from it and put it into the large pocket on the front of her scrub top. "I can come back and give it to you in a bit. Enjoy your visitors for a while longer." She swung the table over the bed and adjusted the head of the bed up, bringing Bobby into more of a sitting position. "I brought you some broth. Sorry, nothing solid for another day or so, but this should feel good in your belly."

She looked at Alex, who was still holding Bobby's hand. "He'll need some help with it."

Alex nodded. "I'll help him."

"Call me if you need anything, Detective Goren." With another smile, she disappeared out the door.

"I'm going to head back to the station and let the guys know you're awake," Deakins said. "They'll be glad to have the news." His expression grew serious. "They really have been worried."

"Tell them... tell them thanks... for the flowers and-and balloons."

Deakins nodded. "I'll tell them. As soon as you're up to it, we'll need to get a statement from you. There's no hurry, though. Right now, just get some rest." He lifted a hand in farewell and left.

Fin moved around the bed and pulled a chair close. Sitting down, he said, "I hope you don't mind if I stay. I didn't hang around watching you sleep for a day and a half just to leave the minute you wake up."

Bobby smirked at his friend. "Thanks, Tut."

"I told you to stop calling me that." His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Bobby pulled his hand from Alex's and reached for the spoon, but she was quicker. "I can do it--" he started, only to be hushed with a skeptical look. "I'm not going to let you feed me like I-I'm a small child," he protested.

"Hold up your hand."

"What?"

"Just hold it up, Bobby."

He complied, mortified to find it was noticeably shaking. He quickly dropped it again.

"So unless you want to take a bath in chicken broth, you're going to have to swallow that overblown male ego and let someone help you." Her expression softened. "Would you rather I call the nurse back in to do it?" There was no recrimination or reproach in her tone, and understanding shone from her soft brown eyes.

Bobby released a soft sigh. "No... you... you do it."

"How about a compromise?" Alex grabbed the water cup from the bedside table and emptied the remaining fluid back into the water pitcher beside it. She took the bowl of broth and poured it into the cup and stuck the straw back into it. "How's that?"

Pleased with Alex's ingenuity, Bobby reached for the cup, and again was stopped by her skeptical expression. "I said compromise, not capitulation." She held the straw to his lips.

Bobby frowned for about a nanosecond, just long enough for the aroma of the warm broth to reach his nose. The answering growl from his stomach made all three laugh. Bobby wrapped his lips around the straw and filled his mouth with the warm liquid. Never had plain, unsalted broth tasted so appetizing. He drained more than half the cup before coming up for air.

"Good?" Alex chuckled.

"Ummm..." Bobby nodded, his stomach happy for the first time since he'd left Lois' diner... how long ago? He had no idea.

"Had enough?" Alex asked when Bobby made no move to reclaim the straw.

"For... for now." He relaxed back into the pillows. When had he ever been this exhausted? He let his eyes drift shut and listened as Alex set the cup down and rolled the table away.

"Do you want to sleep now, Bobby?" she asked.

"No... not yet." With monumental effort, he opened his eyes. "My mom... did someone let her know I'm not... that I'm back?"

It was Fin who answered. "She never knew what was going on, man. I intercepted the doctors before she could be told, convinced them to hold off until we knew for sure."

He processed the information for a moment, then nodded to himself. "That's good. I don't think she'd have reacted well if she'd known everything that was going on. But she had to know something was wrong when I didn't call or go see her."

"Took care of that, too," Fin said. "Alex and I have been calling her every couple of days." At Bobby's embarrassed flush, he shook his head. "She actually remembered me, I think. Said she did, anyhow. I explained to her that you were sick and wouldn't be able to visit for a while and she seemed to understand. Made me promise to make sure you ate good."

"Thanks, Tut. I owe you, man." Bobby blinked heavily, struggling to hold his eyes open, but not yet ready to give in. In truth, he was afraid he would awake again to find this had all been a dream and that he was still in back in Donald's lair.

Speaking of Donald... "There... there are some people who helped me. When I was..."

"In the tunnels?" Alex filled in.

Bobby looked at her, surprised by the tone she used. Was she angry about him living in the tunnels? "I was safe--"

"In the tunnels? Are you crazy, Bobby?" Regret instantly replaced anger in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Bobby shook his head. "I know you didn't." But he turned his head away.

Alex took his hand. "Bobby, look at me." She waited until he complied. "I really didn't mean it. I know you're not crazy." The corners of her mouth twitched. "A little daffy, maybe. Quirky, definitely. But not crazy." Her expression sobered. "It's just..." She ran a hand through her hair, leaving it poking out at strange angles on top. "You scared the hell out of us." She looked at Fin for backup.

The other man leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the mattress beside Bobby's casted arm. "She ain't lying, man. You scared the shit out of all of us. Until you called me, we didn't even know for sure you were alive. We were operating purely on wishful thinking and gut hunches."

Bobby met Alex's eyes. For the first time since he'd known her, she was completely unguarded. Fear, anguish... pain... all there, shining in her tear-filled eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry, Alex. I never really thought about you thinking I was dead. I thought... I thought you would be hating me, thinking I had, I had hurt you. I never considered that you'd be grieving for me."

Alex swatted ineffectually at his arm. "You big oaf! Why can't you accept that there are people who care about you? Of course we were grieving for you."

Fin picked up the explanation. "The human part of us refused to believe you were dead, not until we had a body, but the logical part, the _cop_ part thought you were lying at the bottom of the river."

Bobby tried to imagine how he'd have felt if the roles were reversed -- if it had been Fin or... Alex... He shuddered, horrified at the thought of Alex facing the things he had faced. Living as he had been living. And suddenly he understood her anger.

"I'm sorry. I called as soon as I was able to. I-I tried to get Donald to-to get a message to you."

"Donald?" Alex's eyes widened. "You don't mean the lunatic that runs the Penn Station area?"

Bobby gave a lopsided smile. "One and the same, but he's not as big a lunatic as he pretends to be. He plays the part to keep people away."

"Well, he plays it pretty damned good. He had me convinced." Retaining her grip on Bobby's hand, Alex hooked her toes around the leg of a nearby chair and pulled it to her and sat. "So you were living with Donald?"

Bobby nodded. "Mary..." He stumbled on the name as the memory of her murder returned. "Mary saw me coming out of the water. She went and got Donald. It was his territory, so he got first claim on anything found there. I don't remember any of the early days; I was-was pretty sick, I think. It's a blur. But Donald said his people actually found me a few miles away from where Mary saw me."

"That's how you tore up your feet," Fin speculated.

"I guess so."

"Running barefoot through those rocks and alleys..." Fin clicked his tongue, shaking his head in wonder. "Guess you're lucky the damage wasn't worse."

"Donald took me in. He did the best he could. He... brought a guy, Doc, to take care of me."

"He was a doctor?" Alex questioned.

Bobby shrugged. "I don't think so, but he had medicine that-that helped."

"Bobby!" Alex cried.

"Yeah, I know," Bobby interrupted, "but I didn't have a choice." Of course she would be upset with him for taking unknown drugs from a questionable stranger. In better circumstances, he'd have never even considered something so reckless. "I was pretty sick, and I couldn't get anyone to help me. I learned later that they thought they were protecting me from the cops. Donald showed me a newspaper. It... it said..."

Alex's voice was quieter when she spoke again. "I know what the papers were saying. I'm sorry you had to hear it from them, Bobby."

"Son of a bitch drive-by media had you tried and convicted from the get-go," Fin said, his tone bitter.

"It doesn't matter," Bobby said.

"Doesn't matter?" Alex asked. "Of course it matters, Bobby! Everyone in the city was told in huge headlines that you'd gone crazy and attacked me."

"Sensational headlines are what sells papers. Besides, the truth is out now." Bobby looked from Alex to Fin. "It is, isn't it? They've printed the truth?"

"They have," Fin assured him. "And believe me, if you thought you got raked over the coals by the press, you don't even want to know what they're saying about Waine now that it's out about him being the Mr. Clean killer."

-:-


	18. Epilogue

-:-

**Epilogue: Recompense**

_transitive verb_  
1: to give something to by way of compensation (as for a service rendered)  
2: to pay for  
3: to return in kind

-:-

Bobby pulled at his sling, adjusting it where it was rubbing the skin raw at the back of his neck.

"Leave that alone," Alex admonished. She spared a quick glance at him before returning her eyes to the road. "Robert Goren, are you nervous?" There was a smirk in her voice.

He shot her a frown, not that she saw it, but it made him feel better. He didn't answer her though. He turned his attention out the passenger side window.

After a minute, Alex glanced at him again, all amusement gone from both her expression and her tone. "You really are nervous, aren't you?"

Bobby answered without turning. "A little."

"Why, for heaven's sakes? You've worked with most of these people for years. How many times have you walked into that room and sat down at your desk? Why is this time any different? "

He let all of his frustration out in a sigh and turned to look at her finally. "For two weeks they believed I hurt you, that I tried to rape you."

"But now they know that you were as much a victim as I was, if not more."

He turned back toward the window. "They still believed it." He didn't think she would hear the soft admission.

"I didn't think that bothered you."

"I didn't either." He sighed. "It's just... when they look at me... they'll be reminded. For two weeks, I really was crazy in their minds."

"But not in your mind."

Bobby shot her a look and caught the ghost of a smile twitching her lips. "That's the worst pun I think I've ever heard out of you, Alex Eames."

She slowed to a stop behind a long line of cars waiting at an intersection and turned to face him. "Joke or not, Bobby, it's the truth. You weren't crazy -- _aren't_ crazy. And they know that. I don't think most of them ever believed it anyhow. They know you better."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, but didn't answer.

"Besides, since when do you care what anyone thinks?" The light changed, and she turned her attention back to the road. "Or has that been an act all these years?"

"Everybody cares what the people they work with think about them. And yes, I know I've always been considered a little... unorthodox..."

"A _little_?" Alex chuckled.

"Okay," he conceded, laughing along with her, "a lot."

"A _hell _of a lot!"

"Watch it, Eames, you're pushing it." His amused tone was at odds with the warning in the words. "Okay, I'm odd, and everyone knows it. But that's not the same as being crazy."

"Bobby, if you're not ready for this, we can turn around--"

He took a moment to really consider her offer, but in the end, he knew it would be no better tomorrow, or the next day... or next week. "No, better to get it over with."

"Like ripping off a band-aid, huh?"

Bobby didn't answer. He continued to look out the window. A light snow had fallen in the night, coating the ugliness of this part of town in a thin layer of white. It took Bobby several more blocks to realize where they were. A sudden impulse overtook him.

He turned to Alex. "Could we make a detour?"

Alex looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

"A short one." He thought for a minute. "No... no, sorry. Never mind."

"We have time," Alex said. "Where do you want to go?"

He felt sheepish having to admit it. "I forgot... it's morning. She won't be out."

"She?" There was curiosity in her voice.

"Someone who... who helped me out. I owe her some money." He looked away, back out the window. "I owe her a lot more than that, truth be told."

"We'll look for her this evening, after work, if you're up to it."

Bobby turned, gracing her with a smile. He knew she'd understand. "Afterwards, I'd like to take you to dinner." At her surprised glance, he added, "There's someone who wants to meet you, and..." he paused, "...I owe her, too."

-:-

Just before the elevator doors opened, Bobby took a bracing breath. It was after eight. The squad room would be filled with people, the day having already begun. He should have insisted they come in early, so he could have greeted his colleagues one by one as they arrived for the day, not all at once like this.

It was too late for that now. The elevator doors were open and Alex was looking at him, waiting for him to make the first move. Lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, Bobby stepped out of the superficial safety of the lift and entered the lion's den.

Just as he'd predicted, the squad room was bursting with activity, but to his surprise, no one seemed to notice him as he made his way quietly across to his desk. He met Alex's gaze across the desks as he removed his coat.

She shrugged. "Be careful what you wish for. At least no one is looking at you like you're crazy." She pulled her chair out to sit, and within minutes she was immersed in the large stack of paperwork in the center of her workspace.

Bobby gave the room one last curious glance, sat down and booted up his computer.

"Hey, welcome back, Goren."

Bobby looked up to see Austin Stowe give a small wave as he passed on his way toward the interrogation rooms.

"See, someone did notice you," Alex said with a smirk.

"I'm... I'm not sure which is worse," Bobby said, only half-joking. "Being looked at like a crazy man... or not being looked at... at all."

"Goren," Anni Loomis said, patting his shoulder as she passed behind him. "Good to see you back."

He turned to answer her, but she'd already disappeared around the corner. He gave a small shake of the head, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. He'd been afraid everyone would be awkward around him for a while, but he hadn't expected to be treated as though he'd merely been on vacation.

Bobby dismissed the foolish concerns and turned his attention to cleaning out his bursting email box. Twenty minutes later, he was still sorting through the spam, when Captain Deakins stopped next to his desk.

"Detective Goren," he greeted, "good to have you back. You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"Feeling it, too," Bobby assured him. "A week of riding a desk, and then I'll be cleared for active duty."

"None too soon, either. We've got more cases than we've got manpower right now. I need my best detective team back up and running at full power as soon as possible."

Bobby smiled at the compliment. Deakins didn't hand them out often.

ADA Ron Carver entered the squad room and, spotting the trio, crossed to stand beside Deakins. "Good to see you, Detective Goren."

"Thank you. Good to be back."

Carver looked at Deakins. "I've got the files you wanted." He held up a manila folder. "We can discuss them now, if you're ready?"

"Any time," Deakins said with an enigmatic smile.

"Is that the Santiago Alireza case?" Alex asked. At Carver's nod, she added, "Mind if Bobby and I sit in on it? It's got to be more interesting than going over all this paperwork."

"No problem. A fresh perspective might be just what we need." Deakins headed toward the closest conference room. Carver followed on his heels.

Alex stood and waited for Bobby.

"Alireza?" He looked at her. "Should I recognize that one?"

"I doubt it, though you might have seen something in the papers last week. Come on, the captain can fill you in."

Bobby shut down his email program. His eyes raked the squad room as he stood. He was surprised to note it was nearly empty. A glance at his watch told him it wasn't yet lunch time. He glanced at Alex to ask her about it, but she had turned away, heading for the conference room. Confused, Bobby followed.

At the door, Alex waited for him. She stepped to the side and gestured for him to open it. He scarcely gave her strange action a thought until he stepped into the room and was met with a resounding cheer. He stopped dead in his tracks.

The missing detectives from the bullpen were gathered in the large conference room, all facing him, and all wearing matching face-splitting grins. The room was festooned with black balloons, black streamers and cardboard cutouts of tombstones, all of which, Bobby noted, carried his name.

"You gonna stand there all day with your mouth hanging open?" Fin asked, moving forward to pull Bobby into the room, "or you gonna move and let your partner in?"

He didn't let go of Bobby's arm until they were in front of the long conference table. There was a huge cake in the center, it's top decorated to look like a cemetery with tiny plastic mummies and zombies wandering among the tombstones. The message on the cake read, "Mummies, Zombies And Goren Rise From The Dead."

As Bobby recovered from his shock, he found himself grinning widely.

"I'd say the surprise part was a success," Carver said.

"There's no Alireza case?"

"Oh, there's a case." The attorney held up the file. "Just not in this folder."

Bobby shook his head. He turned to Alex, who was standing at his elbow. "You knew about this?"

"Honest to God, Goren," Detective Sweeney bellowed from the back of the room. "How in the hell did you ever make Detective First Grade with detecting skills like that?"

The whole room laughed, and Bobby felt heat rise in his face.

"We got you something." Nolan Howe stepped forward, a neatly wrapped package in his hands.

"You didn't have to..." Bobby stopped, afraid he was sounding ungrateful. "Thank you," he said simply.

He took the package and set it on the table. Unwrapping it one-handed was awkward, but he managed after a few minutes. Inside was a black binder, very similar to the one he'd lost, only this one was leather, rather than vinyl, and across the front had been engraved the message: "Property of Detective Robert Goren. If found without its owner, please return to 1 Police Plaza."

Laughing, Bobby ran his fingers over the gold letters.

"If you lose that one, then we're just going to declare you hopeless," Marcel said.

"I'll try to be more careful with this one," Bobby promised.

Marcel grinned and pulled a Sharpie marker out of his pocket. He held it in the air. "Okay, who's gonna be first to sign Goren's cast?"

Deakins pushed forward and grabbed the marker. "With rank comes privilege."

-:-

Alex set a paper plate with a large piece of cake on the table in front of Bobby. He pulled his gaze away from his examination of his autograph-covered cast and looked up at her.

"It's your cake, you have to have at least one piece." She sat down next to him. "Besides, it's butter cream frosting. Your favorite."

Bobby picked up the plastic fork and used the side of it to cut off a bite-sized piece. "Thank you, Alex." He looked up, meeting her gaze.

"I assume you're not talking about the cake, which you could have reached over and grabbed for yourself." She gestured around the room. "You can't blame this on me."

"You didn't...?"

"Nuh uh." She stretched across the table to snag a plate of cake for herself, a corner piece with extra icing. She removed a plastic tombstone and poked it into Bobby's piece of cake. "Wasn't me."

Bobby looked around the room, trying to figure out who, if not Alex, would have gone to the trouble.

"Oh, Bobby, come on. Do you really have to know?" Alex shook her head in mock dismay. "Does it matter?"

"No... no, I guess not. I'm just..."

"Curious?"

Bobby chuckled. "Yeah. I don't know who else would have thought of this." His eyes returned to the notebook. "And this... It's... it's... very nice."

Alex let out a frustration-filled sigh. "Do you really have such a low opinion of yourself? Why can't you realize how important you are around here? How respected and appreciated? Someone really did a number on your self-esteem, didn't they?" She shook her head sadly and took another bite of cake.

Bobby dropped his eyes, not willing to take the opening Alex had dangled in front of him. His past was private. The day might well come when he'd feel comfortable discussing it with someone, and he was certain that someone would be Alex. But it wasn't going to be today.

"So, you going to tell me who did this?" he asked, redirecting the conversation to the original topic.

"Let's just say it was a group effort."

Bobby looked at her, surprised. "Really?" His face turned red when he realized how needy that one word had sounded.

Alex laughed, licking the icing from her fork. "Really. So, still think they'll look at you like you're crazy?"

Bobby looked around the room at his colleagues, his friends. Not one had failed to personally stop by and welcome him back, and he had a cast full of autographs to prove it. "Yeah, they will." He laughed at the expression on Alex's face. "But I'm beginning to think that might not be the worst that could happen."

-:-

The End

-:-

_Thank you to everyone who stuck with me to the end. It has been a tremendous pleasure to share my story with you, and I hope each one of you found a little something here to enjoy. _


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